


No Further Proofs

by karuvapatta



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Family Issues, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Night Stands, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Universe might have hated Loki, but the occasional one-night stands almost made up for it - so long as they came without any pesky complications. Human AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was, as his previous experience dictated, foolish to want this. But what's a man to do when "this" comes in a shape of a gorgeous blond brick wall of ripening muscles?

Even stranger – and Loki lived and breathed strange – was the fact that the man seemed quite taken with Loki himself. Well. "Taken" was a strong word. Loki prided himself on his ability to talk almost anyone into almost anything. In more than one sense, his tongue was his greatest asset.

(His other asset was his fondness of physical exercise that allowed him to, inevitably, out-run the object of his innocent pranks.)

But this man – _Thor_ – listened politely, then laughed at Loki's jokes, and then listened, less politely, to Loki's explanations after figuring out most of the jokes were at his own expense. Then he stopped listening altogether, cornered Loki in the pub bathroom and slammed him against the wall.

_Oh_ , Loki thought, eloquently, when the man's ridiculously ripped arms pinned him in place, and then _Oooh_ , when Thor's lips pressed against his.

His kisses were rough and demanding and altogether quite annoyingly wonderful. Loki was panting for breath when Thor finally released him, his blue eyes blazing and his expression stormy.

"I like you better," he growled. "When you don't talk."

"A sentiment shared by many," Loki laughed softly. Then he leaned forward to claim another kiss, his stomach already fluttering in anticipation.

That was when he heard someone mutter " _Fucking faggots_ ", which distracted Thor.

Thor, Loki was learning, could be very _physical_ with his displeasure. And wow, if Loki hadn't been desperately hard already, this would do it: the sight of Thor, not-at-all-politely explaining to the stranger the error of his ways.

Thor turned to look at him.

"Are you going to be difficult about this?" he said, fishing out a phone from his pocket – to call a taxi, no doubt.

"No, not at all," Loki said. He licked his lips, thinking that if they weren't in a public restroom he would very much like to suck Thor's cock right about now. And then he said it out loud, because what the hell.

Thor's face flushed. The unfortunate guy on the floor groaned.

"Come with me, then," Thor said. "I'd hate to deprive you of your entertainment."

"Hmm," Loki said. He smiled wickedly – his favourite smile – and hooked an arm around Thor's neck, pulling him down into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that left them both breathless. "Lead on."

***

Thor's apartment was surprisingly nice. Nothing ostentatious, no aggressive signs of wealth. It was, however, spacious, furnished and decorated by a professional, and well-kept on top of everything else. 

Idly, Loki began to look around for something to swipe. Something incriminating, perhaps – Thor was obviously a man of influence, and not just the pretty body-builder Loki took him for.

"See anything you like?" Thor asked, clearly amused.

"Oh," Loki said. "Oh. Yes." Because Thor was _shirtless_. The universe might have hated Loki, but at this moment, Loki was ready to forgive it anything.

"I believe there was something you wanted," Thor smirked at him. 

"Hmm," Loki murmured appreciatively, running his hands over Thor's pecks. Unbelievable. Then he slid them lower, delighted to hear a little hitched moan. "Perhaps." Thor wasn't smirking now, and was instead making the most delightful sounds when Loki's mouth latched onto his neck, Loki's hands palming his ass.

Loki put much value in his pride and dignity. Therefore, he tried not to look too eager while he dropped to his knees before Thor.

"Perhaps there is," he said, rubbing the thick outline of Thor's cock through his jeans. "You never know."

It was, as he quickly discovered, a thing of glory. His mouth watered. 

He pressed a quick kiss to Thor's abdomen and made a little apologetic sound while digging for condoms in his pocket. His fingers slipped over his phone – oh, he could record that. If Thor was a really high official – or a military man, the odd scar here and there would suggest so – that was always a golden opportunity for blackmail.

Just as he was discreetly setting up a camera, a strong hand entwined in his hair and forced his head upward. He was met with the sight of Thor looking down upon him like an angry god.

Loki most definitely did _not_ mewl.

"Get on with it," Thor said hoarsely. "I'm still angry at you."

"Please never stop," Loki smirked.

It was until much, much later, when he had a mouth full of Thor's cock, two hands urging him on, a bad knee-rub from kneeling for so long, and a most painfully neglected erection, that Loki realised he had forgotten about his camera.

***

The universe did hate him. 

As it turned out, post-coital Thor was no longer interested in pushing Loki around. No, post-coital Thor was _clingy_.

Loki cringed when he found himself embraced.

"Are you alright?" Thor asked with a heavy frown, pulling away to get a better look at Loki. They were entwined in Thor's humongous bed, their bodies cooling down. The room reeked of sex; Loki's mind drowned in shame after some of the things he moaned into Thor's pillow while getting fucked.

"Don't think too highly of yourself," Loki said, snotty.

"No, I mean it. Are you--?"

"I'm fine, Thor! Or would you like me to write you a short poem about your huge, amazing cock?"

With their edge blunted, Thor's smiles were incredibly bright.

"I was under the impression that you almost had one done," he said. His teasing was light-hearted and friendly.

It was insufferable.

"Thanks for the fuck," Loki said, picking himself up. "I have to go now."

Thor blinked at him.

"Can't you stay?"

Oh, for the love of— "I have to get up early," Loki said. "But I'll call you," he lied, to make Thor feel better. 

"We can have another go in the morning," Thor said.

Oh. Hmm.

Well. He _could_ stay, Loki thought. The offer was tempting.

He regretted his decision almost immediately after they lay down to sleep. Because Thor wrapped his arms around Loki. And damn, the man was clingy – but his arms were warm and strong, holding onto Loki like there was anything there worth holding on to.

Thor's breathing quickly evened out into a deep sleep. Loki had no such luck – he forced his muscles to relax, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

Damn Thor.

He shouldn't have stayed. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to run. But he was tired, and Thor's bed was extremely comfortable. And Thor himself wasn't bad, when he had his dick inside Loki, or when he was asleep, the fine shapes of his face and chest outlined by the moonlight, so close for Loki to admire.

He would get up early, Loki decided. Not a hard thing to do – he could barely catch more than three, four hours of sleep each night before the nightmares woke him up.

He would get up early, and snoop around the apartment. Thor must have had some loose cash lying around. Or maybe it wasn't too late to find some blackmail material.

Thor's arms tightened around him, and Loki breathed out, and relaxed. He could do it. Really, it was almost comfortable.

Thor's heartbeat rumbled in his chest. Outside, it started to rain. Loki wasn't certain which sound finally lulled him to sleep.

***

When he woke up, it was to bright sunlight and the smell of bacon.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," Thor said cheerfully.

Loki very much wanted to berate him on the cliché. "Nnngh," he said, and flopped on his stomach, burrowing into the pillows.

"Have it your way," Thor didn't sound put off.

Bacon and coffee proved too strong a temptation. Once Loki had enough caffeine circling in his veins, he finally managed to focus properly on Thor. Who was smiling, and shirtless, and altogether way too happy.

"Weren't we supposed to be having sex?" Loki asked him eventually, because this was a memory that demanded some urgent examining.

"I didn't want to wake you," Thor said.

Wake—oh, fuck. He was supposed to—

He would be _late_ , god damn it. Late for his own trial.

Thor didn't question him while he stormed off, but he did look a little forlorn. Loki felt a twinge in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in a very long time, and stood at the threshold, unsure of what to do.

Thor took the decision out of his hand and kissed him, way too sweetly for Loki's liking.

"Call me," he said.

"I will," Loki said. Lied. Whatever.

And then he left.

***

Fucking god-damn bloody prosecutors, Loki thought. Fucking _this one_ in particular, with his beard and an eye-patch and pretentious patronymics. Not to mention his strange fixation on seeing Loki in jail for some minor offences—

"Seventeen cases of fraud," Odin Borson intoned. "Twenty-one cases of theft. Five attempts at blackmail. And others—"

The bastards couldn't even prove most of those, Loki thought, baring his teeth in a smile. 

Odin stared at him, impassively. They had played this game for a long time – evidence would turn up, and then disappear, and then some key witness would change their statement. Others would have given up but Odin was patient.

Well, Loki could be patient, too. It wasn't by far his favourite thing to be, but he was very flexible.

Also, fuck Odin for bringing his family into this. His wife was in the audience, watching Loki with a fixed expression – she had dabbled in social work, or put the money behind it, or something equally ludicrous. But unlike other benefactors, with their fucking _charity_ , Frigga would actually deign to talk to her charges, sad little half-grown criminals that they were.

Loki's fists clenched. He still couldn't bring himself to throw out some of the books she had given him for Christmas all those years ago.

He was very adamant about avoiding her gaze, so he missed the arrival of the new guest. And when he saw him—

Loki laughed, heedless of the panicked looks of the crowd, of Odin's scowl, and even of his slowly slipping sanity.

Because it was Thor. Fucking Thor, staring at him, wild-eyed and bewildered. Looking bloody gorgeous in his suit.

Case closed, no further proof needed: the universe hated him. And Loki—Loki would do his damnedest to hate it right back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki confronts the rest of the family and makes some stupid life choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, this is now a WIP! I'm estimating about seven chapters.

"Is there a story?"

Loki very carefully did not turn around, focusing on the simple, soothing motion: inhale, exhale. A neat cloud of smoke blew from his lips, before it was caught by the breeze. "Isn't there always?" he said finally.

Frigga sighed and sat down next to him. The impressive stone steps leading to the court building were uncomfortable as all hell, but Loki knew he looked good lounging on them. And so he did.

"Loki—"

Yes, there was always a story. And the way she said it, right there, was a perfect beginning of one. A story about petty offences, cheap cigarettes and a wasted life. Loki might have had very little experience in the area but he knew the tone of a "disappointed mother" if he ever heard one.

"Please spare me the lecture," he said. "It's a lovely day." 

When he met her gaze, Frigga smiled the kind of smile that shaved at least a decade of her already youthful face. And she kept smiling, and looking at Loki with such undivided, polite attention, that he finally cracked.

He ground the rest of the cigarette on the stone. When that didn't do the trick, he fished the rest of the pack from his coat pocket and, without breaking eye-contact, tossed it into the nearest rubbish bin.

"Thank you," she said, pleased.

Loki scoffed.

"You shouldn't discourage me," he said, testily. "I heard that nine out of ten prisons accept cigarettes as a legal form of payment. This might be my only salvation." He had a joke about _other_ forms of payments on the tip of his tongue, but, well. It was Frigga.

Nevertheless, he had struck a nerve.

"You know Odin isn't doing this to hurt you," she said – a statement so absurd he gave it the ugly bark of laughter it richly deserved. "His job is to uphold the law. The very same law you take so much delight in breaking."

"Then you should thank me," he said, "for keeping your husband in the business."

He was still wheezing when he spotted Thor emerging from the building. Thor's golden hair whipped in the breeze while he looked around; Thor's dark navy suit alternatively outlined and covered his muscles.

Damn. Loki could pull off a suit perfectly well, with the aid of copious amount of hair gel and that particular aura of indifference he had spent so much time perfecting in front of a mirror. Loki took _looking good_ for what it truly was – an act, a performance. With the right flair, almost an art form. 

Meanwhile, Thor looked good because he was _Thor_. Loki could – and did – hate him for it, if the image of Thor's cock hadn't popped up in his head, just to remind him how pathetically weak he was when faced with it.

He shifted in his place and prayed to anyone who might listen that Frigga wouldn't notice.

"Loki?" Thor said, marching towards them. There was no anger – small mercy, lest Loki embarrassed himself completely – but a sense of bewilderment written all over his features.

"You two know each other?" Frigga said.

"We have met," Loki said. 

Thor's blue eyes were boring into him, silently demanding an explanation. Loki felt no need to supply one, given how the situation was perfectly clear.

"Our meeting had a somewhat rocky beginning," he said, smiling his most innocent smile. "But all in all, I think both parties can agree it progressed most pleasurably, and ended in mutual satisfaction."

It was hard to say whose face was more hilarious – Thor or Frigga's.

"I don't know why I even bother being surprised," Frigga said weakly. "Thor, _please_ don't mention this to your father."

All the good humour left Loki. It felt like being slapped in the face – not that he hadn't expected that, of course. Again: it was obvious. But it was one thing to suspect and another to hear it spelled out…

"Mother, father knows I'm bisexual—" Thor said.

"I really don't think that's the issue here," Loki said.

Oh, maybe he could yet spin it into something worthwhile. Maybe—Thor was clearly kind, and big-hearted, and trusting. It would be easy to win his sympathy – maybe even his love. If Loki played his cards right he could have the son of Odin at his mercy. And wouldn't that be _fun_?

A part of his brain, seldom heard, recoiled in disgust. Damn it, though, Loki had no time for disgust – the investigation of his case had taken some nasty turns. Now, with Odin believing Loki had seduced his son for some nefarious purpose - _but isn't that what you did?_ \- he would double his efforts—

His fist clenched, nails dragging on the stony surface, before they dug into the flesh of his palm. A jab of pain – and the world was focusing again, Frigga's face watching him, a sharp exhale of breath that left his lungs burning, and a heartbeat that wasn't his own.

He inhaled, and exhaled. No smoke left his mouth, and yet its insides tasted like ash.

"Loki, I don't think even you realize what's the issue here," Frigga said, in that calming tone of voice that she used to use whenever she thought Loki was being particularly crazy. "Well. I will leave you boys to it." She raised and dusted off her elegant pencil skirt. "Just—please keep the details to yourselves."

She kissed Thor's cheek and left.

Thor wasn't overly fond of prolonged silences. "You said you'd call me," he said.

"I was going to," Loki said.

"You never took my number."

"Oh," Loki grinned. "You've noticed?"

Thor wasn't smiling. "Liar," he said – not accusatory, just a statement of fact.

"Thor," Loki said, patiently. "You might have noticed that I'm on trial for fraud. Amongst other accusations. All of them untrue, of course." His face was a picture of innocence.

Thor frowned at him. "What was I, then?" he asked.

"An amazing fuck," Loki said promptly. He hoped it would earn him a smile, and it did.

"But also a distraction?" Thor said. "You were worried about the trial, weren't you?"

Just his rotten luck, then – Thor should have been obtuse. Really, he should have been. The universe owed him at least one member of this damn family that couldn't read him like on open book.

"Of course not," Loki said. "It's just formality. Even your own dear father had to admit they have very little evidence."

Thor rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Loki—"

"What?" he snapped. 

Helpless Thor wasn't attractive, Loki concluded. Helpless Thor made his head spin a little, like someone removed some critical part of the mechanism and now the whole world wobbled.

Men who looked like that, Loki thought, shouldn't look like—like _that_. 

"Just—call me?" Thor said, and squeezed Loki's hand, slipping a smart little business card – just a phone number and the words _Thor Odinson_ in bold golden print.

"I will."

***

He didn't.

Instead, Loki enjoyed a blissful week of peace before the universe caught up with him again.

***

It was that particular kind of office that wouldn't look out of place in a period drama – all dark, heavy woods, intricate patterns, a large fireplace, and a huge chiselled desk occupying its centre. The only concession to the twenty first century was the state-of-the-art PC and the security system.

Loki pressed his hands, smoothing out his coat – which he refused to take off, even though he was sweating underneath it. The leather chair creaked – deliberate, most likely, to make the visitor feel awkward while Odin measured them with a silent, watchful gaze of his single eye.

Oddly enough it was Odin who broke the silence, with a dry humourless quip. "How kind of you to accept my invitation."

"It was hard to resist," Loki said flatly. He had suffered a brief moment of panic upon seeing the black non-descript car parked beneath his building, but the men were Odin's, and they were fairly polite.

"You are aware," Odin said, "that your sentence might be greatly reduced if you decide to cooperate?"

"Hypothetical sentence," Loki corrected him.

Odin's face betrayed no emotion. "You maintain you are innocent, then?" he asked.

"Of course I am," Loki smiled. "Do correct me if I'm wrong, as I have not had the privilege of your education, but you need something—what was it? Oh, right. _Evidence._ "

He was pushing his luck and the feeling was exhilarating. Odin flexed his fingers almost imperceptibly, like he wanted very much to throttle Loki. Since Odin was usually guarded about his body language, Loki counted this as a victory.

"These are dangerous men you've been liaising with," Odin said. 

A change in tactic, then – appealing to Loki's sense of self-preservation. What a quaint idea.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Loki said. He tried to keep his voice light but the sudden wave of nausea betrayed him – partially because some of these men he was trying very hard not to think about, and partially because Odin had apparently kept a closer watch on him then he realized.

"I'm sure you do," Odin said. "Do you _want_ to go to jail? Because if it is protection you need, there are other means of ensuring it."

Loki forced a smile.

"If you need someone to turn evidence, I suggest you consult a guilty party. I know nothing—"

"Can you not see how much trouble you are in, boy?" Odin snapped. "Because if you are going to keep protesting your innocence, please be aware that we have enough _evidence_ to put you in for life."

"If that were true, I wouldn't be here talking to you," Loki said. 

Odin laughed – a short, bitter sound that made Loki jump in his seat.

"And I wouldn't be here wasting my time. Believe me; I'm not doing this for the pleasure of watching you dig yourself all the way down."

He couldn't stop his fists from clenching. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but no sound made it past the dryness in his throat.

"Are we done, then?" he managed eventually. Odin was watching him with such an obviously pitiful look that Loki wanted to scream. He would have gotten up and left, if he trusted his body to obey him.

"No, we are not done," Odin said coldly. "There's still one more matter."

"Oh?"

He feigned nonchalance, and he feigned it poorly. Because, _obviously_ , Odin's sudden interest in Loki only meant that he wanted to _use him_. To go after more important people. And Loki—damn him.

Surely he couldn't have been that pathetic, he thought wildly. Surely not. After all, it wasn't Odin's attention he wanted. He wasn't—

_Oh, but you are._

Odin's face was carefully void of emotion, and Loki felt naked, exposed. He didn't even bother with a fake smile.

"I wanted to talk to you about my son."

Oh. Loki laughed, because damn, it _was_ funny. "What about him?" he asked.

"What kind of game are you playing?" Odin said. 

"Why, I'm planning to seduce away your family fortune," Loki said cheerfully. "To pay off my debt to the shadowy people who threaten to murder me. What did you _think_?"

"Your sarcasm would amuse me more if it sounded less plausible," Odin said. 

There really was nothing Loki could say to that. He had learned, long ago, that the best lies were covered with small truths.

For his part, Odin simply looked very, very tired – as did most people, when forced to interact with Loki for any length of time.

"Loki," Odin said –the first time he had called him by his name. "From what I know, they are not the kind of people you can simply pay off."

Ah, how sweet – more of the disgustingly fake concern Loki had no stomach for.

"I thought you were going to warn me to stay away from your son," he said, in lieu of another lecture. These people weren't his _family_ , by any stretch of imagination - _of course they weren't_ \- why did they insist on these tedious sermons?

Odin stared at him, tight-lipped.

"And if I did, would you?"

"Of course," Loki lied. 

"I am well aware you hate me, even if I don't know why," Odin said quietly. "But my wife and son did nothing to inspire your anger. Please, Loki, keep them away from this. And think twice before you act – in case something happens that you yourself might regret."

"If you're appealing to my better nature then it means you're getting out of ideas, and this conversation is over," Loki said.

He did not bother with phony smiles or equally dishonest farewells before storming out of the office and slamming the door behind him.

***

First order of business: ask Thor out.

No, scratch that: first he spent half an hour digging around his apartment, trying to remember where he had misplaced Thor's business card. Then he spent another fifteen minutes staring morosely at the wall, trying to forget that he had been _trying to forget_ that he had put it in his desk drawer, after finding himself strangely reluctant to simply burn it.

The golden letters glittered at him, mockingly.

Thor answered enthusiastically enough and soon enough they were meeting at a pub in one of the worse neighbourhoods. Not Loki's usual ground; hopefully, they would be alone.

Except, of course, for that one guy who was sipping beer at the bar and very pointedly not looking in their direction – Odin's lackey, no doubt. Loki was half-tempted to slip a roofie in his drink but then he got distracted.

Thor sat rigidly in his seat opposite Loki, in a sleeveless shirt. The lack of sleeves was rather worth a mention. His hands curled around a glass, which lent even more definition to his toned muscles.

"I assume you have some questions," Loki said, to get this over and done with and _maybe_ proceed with something more productive. Like getting Thor to fuck him again.

"I do," Thor said, and narrowed his eyes. "Will you tell the truth, for once?"

"Have I ever lied to you?" Loki said. "I haven't, have I? And yet you keep accusing me of it. You're hurting my feelings, Thor."

"I doubt that," Thor snorted. "And besides, Mother said I should be careful."

Under different circumstances, these words coming from the mouth of a grown man – and grown _how_ – would be funny, and Loki would mock them mercilessly. But he knew Frigga. And—

_Loki lies. Everyone knows that--_

\--and who was he to question wisdom?

"Ask away, then," Loki said. "I will tell the truth. Possibly."

Thor squinted at him, clearly displeased with the answer. "How do you know my mother?" he asked.

"From work," Loki said.

"Really? What kind of work do you do?"

"Charity."

That earned him an openly disbelieving gaze. 

"You don't seem the type."

"Again with the baseless accusations," Loki shook his head. "Rather like your father, aren't you?"

It was a cheap shot – and like most cheap shots, it found its mark. Huh, Loki thought, when Thor's posture tensed. Daddy issues. How original.

"So is he grooming you to take over the family business?" Loki said, because self-preservation has never been his strongest point. "A brave warrior, here to protect the law-abiding citizens from those pesky criminals?"

"I have no intention of becoming a prosecutor," Thor said. "If you must know, I've been doing military training for the past three years."

Ah. Military. He had guessed correctly, then. The simplicity of the concept suited Thor well. Here are your people, here is the enemy: defend the first, crush the second. No time for picking sides.

It must have been a blow to Odin's pride, Loki thought, viciously. His only son, away somewhere where not even Odin could find him, with no guarantee he would come back—

He cleared his throat.

"And what are your plans now?"

"My plans," Thor said politely, "are none of your business."

Loki's smile turned predatory. Not an idiot, then. Good. He had no patience for idiocy.

"Can you kill a man with your bare hands?" he asked, with genuine interest.

Thor looked at him pointedly and rested his arms more comfortably on the table. "What do you think?" he asked, sniggering, when Loki's gaze zeroed in on his biceps.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," Loki said. "But hey, do you want to bet you can't beat me at a game of darts?"

***

Much to his chagrin, Thor couldn't. But it was a near thing. And Loki did lose at everything else.

How did they end up like this, _again_ , Loki had no idea. He didn't mind though.

Thor had him pressed against the wall with the sheer bulk of his body, his hand wrapped around the back of Loki's neck. It was a charmingly possessive gesture – and yet when Loki tried to chase his mouth, Thor evaded him. They were so close, foreheads touching, the scent of Thor overwhelming all of Loki's senses. Thor's other hand squeezed his hipbone, hard and painful and _not enough_ , nowhere near enough—

Loki whimpered.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, because whichever way he wriggled – and wriggling in their position was very distracting – Thor still wouldn't relent. "I can make this good for you, you know I can—"

"I don't trust you," Thor said, his mouth brushing Loki's cheekbone, and it was stupid – he was right there, talking nonsense when they could be having sex – Loki was ready, so embarrassingly eager for it – and what did trust even have to do with anything?

"Then why are you even--?"

Thor huffed a laugh, and kissed Loki's neck, delightfully ungentle with his beard and teeth, hands still pinning Loki in place.

"Because you're pretty," he said. 

Loki's hands scrambled at Thor's shirt and slid underneath it. Thor shivered in response, his breath tickling Loki's neck, before he latched onto it again, sucking a bruising kiss above Loki's pulse point.

"I would be much prettier if you'd let me undress," Loki said with some difficulty. Thor's skin was smooth and hot like a furnace, and he wanted more of it—

All of it, he wanted all of it – and it was so refreshing to _want_ again, even something as simple as physicality and heat, when his mind had been steadily slipping into fog over the past few weeks—but Thor was here and now. Everything else seemed meaningless, and so he let himself forget—

"Are you alright?" Thor asked, blinking at him. His face was flushed but this sudden concern chased away the look of blatant desire.

Loki snarled and shoved him. He would have had more luck with the brick wall behind his back.

"I'm fine," he said. "Now were you planning to go somewhere with this, or…?"

Thor was still looking at him uncertainly, and Loki loathed that with all his heart. 

"Or are you afraid your father is going to scold you for hanging with the wrong crowd?" Loki said, with a nasty smile. "Surely he had made plans for you. It would be a shame to disappoint him so—"

Goading Thor was too easy, Loki thought. He couldn't suppress the full body shiver when Thor slammed his hands on the wall, trapping Loki's head within the solid circle of his arms. His anger burned brightly, and Loki would be content to bask in it for hours.

"Shut up," Thor growled.

"Make me," Loki smirked at him.

He accepted the kiss with fervent urgency that landed him somewhere between shame and arousal. But those were just feelings, and Thor was _holding him_ , finally, his hands rough, his mouth demanding. Surrender was easy.

Which was why he wanted to howl in frustration when Thor released him.

"What now?" Loki said.

"Loki," Thor said.

"Thor," Loki said, coldly.

"I'm not going to sleep with you."

Oh, splendid. Loki threw his head back and pressed his hands to his face, praying for the world to man up and stop doing these things to him.

"Why ever not?" he asked, sounding way calmer than he felt. "Didn't your mother teach you it's not okay to tease?"

"Didn't _your_ mother teach you it's not okay to lie and steal?" Thor said.

Loki breathed out, but the sudden ringing in his ears didn't subside. He smiled – that is, he uncurled his upper lip from his teeth – and folded his hands, tightly.

"No," he said simply. "Will that be all?"

Thor was watching him, clearly troubled, but wise enough to keep from asking any more questions. He didn't speak until Loki made ready to leave.

"Wait," he said then, and cleared his throat. "Will you go out with me?"

Loki shrugged. "What for? I can go out with someone who actually _wants_ me…"

"I never said I didn't," Thor said.

"Actions speak louder than words," Loki said loftily.

"I just said I won't sleep with you, for now." Thor stepped into Loki's personal space and did that _thing_ again, when he cupped the back of Loki's neck with his hand, therefore forcing Loki to meet his earnest blue eyes. It was insufferable. "Loki, I don't think you're well."

"Fuck off," Loki told him.

"Can we take it slow?" Thor asked.

"I don't have time for slow, in case you haven't noticed," Loki said. His foolish body wanted, above everything else, to melt into Thor's gentle touch and soothing voice; but he was better than that. His brain was still working properly - _what a joke_ \- and Loki would not do this to himself, ever again. 

"Let me," Thor asked softly. Loki didn't even know what he was asking for, and didn't care, not for that tone of voice, or that kind and hopeful look. Not in a million years.

"Fuck off," he said, again – and why did he ever consider himself well-spoken? What a joke, all of it, a sick joke – he would have to find a better way to get back at Odin, now. 

These people were nothing to him. He just had to find a way to prove it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki goes looking for a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and kind comments! Seriously, I spend so much time agonizing over this fic, and the response is blowing me away. Also the chapters seem to be getting progressively longer. Hope you like it!

It was early afternoon when Loki crawled from beneath a blanket. His bed had been so warm—no, that wasn't true. His bed was cold, and he was thirsty, hungry, and badly in need of a shower. Nevertheless, getting up seemed like an impossible task.

One he managed, eventually. And wow – five p.m., a nice new low. The curtains were pulled tightly shut, so that he couldn't see the mess his apartment was. He padded over to the bathroom, flicked on the lights – and then laughed, short and bitter, because the face he saw in the mirror was a disgusting sight indeed.

His hair was a mess. He needed to do something about his hair. He needed to do something about his _life_ —

Hair it was.

By some miracle, he had a bathtub – an ancient thing, but it would do. A nice warm bath would make him feel better. Maybe with bubbles. He was an adult human being and he could have a bubbly bath whenever he bloody well wanted to.

He turned on the water, as hot as it would go, and pulled off his dirty pyjamas. Then he fixed himself a strong tea and sat naked at the edge of the tub, watching the rise of the water level and the clouds of steam curling above it.

There was a laptop, somewhere on the floor. He still hadn't read the last messages he got, either from the law department or from the—the _other_. But his tea was bitter and he had no sugar to put inside, because he hadn't gone grocery-shopping in days. Somehow, this seemed more important.

It would take a while for the temperature to get bearable. He could do some cleaning, in the mean-time. Or maybe eat something. Instead he kept sitting on the edge of the tub and entertained himself by swirling his fingers in the water, watching the way light reflected on its disturbed surface.

By the time he managed to move, the water had gone cold.

Loki spat and snarled while he washed himself, his entire body shivering. But he was very thorough – shampoo, then rinse carefully, then conditioner, for the appropriate amount of time. He spent an extended while plying apart his hair and then rinsing it again, thoroughly, only to brush them again with his fingers.

He inspected himself critically in front of the mirror. Then he resolved to pick up a pair of scissors and trim the split ends because he would be damned if he would let anyone else hold sharp instruments anywhere near his neck.

Was there a point to this, Loki thought, while he picked up the straightening iron. He had no plans to go outside – although he probably should, at some point, if only to let Odin's goons know he wasn't dead yet. But it had gone dark, and he really, _really_ ought to do something about the messages. Or the impending disaster that was his monthly rent. There was, of course, a number of separate accounts with various amounts of spare change that would get him through a couple of weeks, if the need arose. And if he used it sparingly. Which he wasn't likely to do.

Ah, well. 

Underneath the mess it was a nice enough apartment. Nicer than Loki should be able to afford. But for some strange reasons, the rent dropped dramatically after certain nasty rumours threatened to get the landlord completely broke. 

Speaking of, the old man was getting cocky again. Loki grinned. A couple moved in downstairs, happily in love, students – it would be fun to introduce himself to his new neighbours. If he got creative he might even get them to break up.

\--dinner. He should eat dinner, first. Maybe he would cook – he liked cooking, if the mood struck him. Except his fridge was mostly empty and he really was in no mood to go out. 

The sound of ringtone startled him out of his thoughts. He froze, the straightening iron still clutched in one hand, and counted the repetition of the annoying little jingle – one, two, three.

It wasn't the phone he used to contact Thor. No, this one meant business, in the worst possible ways. He wondered, idly, if Odin's people were tapping this one, too.

The signal stopped. 

Loki resumed straightening his hair in front of a mirror, strand after strand. He liked the slow, repetitive motions, but they left his mind wandering—

No, he couldn't afford that.

It was a game. All of it, a silly little game. One he could win if he put his mind to it—if his mind would only obey him—

There were things Odin might have suspected, Loki thought later. He was browsing through the files – his case, all the fraud and blackmail and theft – and none of it came attached with solid evidence. He might have been careless, dare he even say: foolish; but he wasn't an idiot.

And Odin—might have suspected. But he didn't _know_.

No, it was a game, and of the worst possible kind: a waiting game. Because for all that he tried to make Loki sweat, none of what Odin had right now was enough to convict him. But he would be watching, very closely, waiting for the stress to get the better of Loki. Waiting for him to trip.

Loki suspected his own funds would last shorter than Odin's patience.

Oh, and there was the other thing – the other messages, which he deleted, one by one. He had no interest in dealing with the people who had sent them. In the past he had tried to keep their interactions to the minimum. And truth be told, even if he decided to give Odin what he wanted – it might not be enough. Sufficient, maybe, to further the investigation – and there was a lot to investigate – but not to shut them down. Plus in doing so he would only attract their attention and he had no illusions about the price he would pay for that.

His stomach growled. Damn, he should really—

He wanted to scream. That was the problem. He wanted to scream and claw at his own skin until it bled, until the haze of _worry_ and _confusion_ seeped out of his mind. He wanted to feel _something_. He wanted to never feel again.

Loki shut the lid of his laptop. His throat was constricted and his mouth was filled with thick, sticky saliva – it was impossible to breathe. 

Air. He needed fresh air.

Outside, it was cold. Blissfully, delightfully cold.

He stood bare-footed on the balcony, clutching the railing. Five floors, all the way down. The young couple, probably curled up in front of the TV, directly beneath him. Further down, that lady with the cat, what was her name, the blasted animal sometimes climbed all the way up to Loki's floor. Below—he didn't know. Maybe it was the family with that kid. If he leaned forward, he could see a child's bike, red and blue and yellow, resting against the railing. 

Five floors. He looked down on the pavement beneath, thinking—

_A moment of pain. And then it would all be over._

\--he was thinking too much.

He turned away, abruptly. The cold was getting to him, through the thin T-shirt and flannel pants, and he shivered all over. The numbness was welcome, but useless – and he needed to focus.

His steps led back to the kitchen, and the bottle of vodka he had in the freezer. He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, relishing the burn in his throat, the hideous taste—ah. Shock therapy. Works wonders. He could already feel his mind clearing.

So what were his options, then? Confess and go to jail? Get a legal job – with no credentials, no work experience, limited people skills, and an on-going criminal trial? Carry on with his meagre savings, until Odin grew bored or Loki starved to death? Tell everything he knew about Thanos' little gang of merry murderers and weapon smugglers – and _then_ spend the rest of his life sleeping with one eye open, waiting for their vengeance to catch up with him?

Or – and Loki gritted his teeth at the thought – he could call Thor. 

This was beyond pathetic. Truly, reaching new levels here. But it's been, how long – a week since their last meeting. Over a week. Thor had called twice. Each time, Loki refused to pick up.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. Or, more specifically, what it was about Thor that made everything else fade into the background. But—oh, well. At the very least, he could maybe test Thor's conviction about how much he really didn't want to sleep with Loki.

A distraction. Exactly what he needed.

***

"So this isn't a date?" Thor said two days later.

Loki glared at him. "No."

"Ah." Thor looked down at his plate, and then up at Loki's black button-down and sleeked hair. "So what is it, then?"

Loki gritted his teeth. "Not a date."

"That's—good to know."

They sipped water in awkward silence. Waiter came over to collect their orders, and Loki jumped at the excuse to look at someone who wasn't Thor. Unfortunately, this forced him to acknowledge that nearly every table around them was occupied by two people. On a date.

He had – foolishly – hoped that a posh, elegant place would knock Thor off-balance. After all, Thor had seemed so at home at lowly bars and pubs, in jeans and T-shirt, blatantly ogling Loki's ass while they tried their hand at bowling (Loki still maintained his abysmal score was due to that.)

If Thor showed up to this restaurant in a T-shirt he would be turned away, and then Loki could laugh at him and they could go for a beer. So it stood to reason that Thor would come dressed up like a fucking fashion model, in a long designer suit jacket and perfectly fitted trousers, all in subdued hues of red and dark blue.

He looked good. There was no way around that.

But it only served to make Loki uncomfortably aware that, well, Thor was a son to Odin and Frigga. He grew up rich and spoiled and surrounded by elegant people. Of course he knew how to dress.

"So what's the plan for this not-date of yours?" Thor said.

"Dinner," Loki glared at him hatefully. "And a movie."

"I see." 

The slight smile on Thor's face was infuriating. 

Awkward silence lasted until the waiter came back with wine and appetizers. Loki thoroughly enjoyed the act of tasting wine before deeming it acceptable, although he suspected Thor might be better suited for the job. 

"I must say," Thor said after they were alone once more. "This life of fraud and petty crime is treating you well, if you can afford to eat at places like this."

Loki stilled, halfway through the motion of reaching for bread. His fist clenched.

"Going through my files again, Odinson?" he asked sweetly. "My, I didn't realize I was so interesting."

"That was my father," Thor said. "He called to advise me strongly against meeting you today."

The image of Odin "advising" instead of "barking orders" was too outlandish to consider. He was surprised Thor hadn't choked on the euphemism.

"This must have made dating fun for you, if your dad can go through police records of any potential boyfriends," Loki said.

"So we _are_ dating?" Thor said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Loki had a sharp retort at the tip of his tongue, but Thor's expression was rather adorable. He just snorted in response. 

"No," he said. And then—no, he was better than that. He wouldn't stoop to asking – "And what else did your father tell you about me?"

Damn. How much more pathetic could he get, Loki wondered. Surely there were _some_ limits.

Judging by the frown on Thor's face it hadn't been anything pleasant. Not that there were many pleasantries to choose from – Odin had made his feelings about Loki abundantly clear. It would be too much to expect a modicum of respect for Loki's privacy.

"Not much," Thor said, all business-like and serious now. "My father is tight-lipped about many things. His work most of all. But you have met before, haven't you? Before this mess?"

Loki snorted. "By 'this mess' are you by any chance referring to my present life?"

"Yes."

Thor's stormy expression gave nothing away – he sat impassively, watching Loki with rapt attention. He had all of Odin's regal posture, softened with Frigga's warmth and compassion. The bastard.

Loki bared all his teeth in a grin. "A masterful summary. Truly, I'm impressed."

"You are dodging the question."

"Am I?"

Wine. Wine was his friend and his saviour. He gulped it down and carefully set aside the glass, weighing his options. There was no harm in divulging some information, if neither Odin nor Frigga had done so yet.

"We have met, yes. Several years ago."

"You said you knew my mother from work," Thor said. Loki instantly regretted telling him anything. " _Her_ work, right? She participated in this charity project for some years—"

Ah, yes. _Project._ Out of all this blasted family, with their fucking arrogance and pretentious notions like "listening to Loki" and "occasionally remembering what he said", Thor was, at least, wonderfully honest.

He contemplated leaving. It wouldn't do to cause a scene, not in a place like this, but he could excuse himself to the bathroom, or for a cigarette break, and then just _leave_. Without his coat, because taking his coat would be suspicious – less so if he went for the cigarettes. Except he threw away his last pack after Frigga had asked him to. But – damn it, he didn't love that coat, anyway.

He wondered how long Thor would wait for him.

"Congratulations," he said coldly. "Brilliant deduction. We will make a lawyer of you yet. You will do your father proud."

"Lawyers lie all the time," Thor said. There was a faint crack in his armour – he did fall for the petty jabs rather easily. "You would be better suited for the job, I think."

"Yes, white-collar crime sounds infinitely more appealing than robbing banks would be," Loki said. "More socially acceptable, too."

"My father is not a criminal," Thor said, an edge to his voice that made Loki's skin prickle. All of his base instincts screamed at him to back off – so of course he plunged right back in.

"I did not say that. But in skilful hands, law is merely a tool. A measure to keep the status quo. Who can blame your father for working hard to keep the power where it should be? And," Loki smiled slightly. "When the end is noble – noble _enough_ , I should say – the means merely need to be—effective."

"What the hell are you implying?"

"I'm implying nothing," Loki said. "I'm _saying_ that your father would throw you all under the bus if it suited his purpose."

Arrival of the waiter saved Loki from getting black-eyed and Thor from getting blacklisted. He nodded his thanks and picked up the cutlery.

"Lovely! This place never ceases to amaze me," he said brightly. The aroma hitting his nose was indeed divine, and the arrangement on the plate aesthetically pleasing, to the point where he felt vaguely guilty about touching it. "Though I must admit, I don't come here as often as I would like, and you seem to believe. _Petty_ crimes don't pay that well."

He ate in silence, while Thor's bright blue eyes were fixed upon him, his entire face gone white with rage. He took no notice of the food on his own plate.

"You don't get to talk like that about my family," Thor said eventually.

Loki shrugged and reached for the bottle of wine to refill his own glass. A faux-pas of epic proportions, but since Thor wasn't obliging—

Thor's hand shot out, lightning-fast, and intercepted Loki's motion. His fingers encircled Loki's wrist in a grip so tight it cut off all circulation. That he managed to do so without knocking down the wine bottle and the glasses was truly impressive.

"You hate my father," Thor said quietly. "Why?"

"Seriously?" Loki tried to control his voice but he was feeling a little breathless. It was unfair how the painful squeeze of Thor's fingers was enough to make his pulse race and his breath catch. "He's trying his best to put me behind bars. Do I need a better motive?"

"Oh, sure," Thor smiled slightly. "You are sweet and innocent, and the whole world is picking on you for no reason."

"Essentially."

The force of Thor's grip lessened, like he was remembering himself. He looked down on Loki's wrist and frowned to see the red-and-white imprints of his own fingers; almost apologetic, he shifted his hold and brushed Loki's knuckles with his thumb.

Loki tried to swallow the pang of disappointment—and then thought better of it. Good communication was the basis of every relationship, right?

"Thor," he said. "It might have escaped your attention but I rather enjoy it when you're being rough with me. No need to feel bad about this."

"I have noticed," Thor said. He was still _holding Loki's hand_ , the sentimental fool. "But it doesn't mean I enjoy it as well."

Would banging his head against the table be considered a breach of etiquette, Loki wondered.

"Stop that," he said.

To his credit, Thor did, immediately. He even moved to refill Loki's glass while he was still at it and then finally focused on his own dish.

The awkwardness was almost painful. They ate in silence, savouring the taste of the food, and – at least in Loki's case – trying fruitlessly to come up with a topic of discussion that wouldn't end in another fight.

Not that he didn't enjoy fighting with Thor. The problem was—if he kept this up, if Thor wouldn't have at least _some_ fun in Loki's company, he wouldn't want to see him again. And with sex off the table, Loki had trouble coming up with anything else to keep Thor interested.

Why _was_ Thor interested? Why would he—

Oh, this he needed to figure out, and fast. He suspected at first that Thor enjoyed pushing Loki around, almost as much as Loki enjoyed enabling him. And that would have been perfect. Would fit the profile, too – spoiled rich kid, wanting to give in to his worst instincts with a willing, _discreet_ partner, who was such a long way down the social ladder he barely needed to be seen as a person at all. Unless it was the other way around, and Thor was the type who needed to relinquish all responsibilities and find freedom in subjugation at somebody else's hands. 

Well. Loki could do that, too. He was very flexible.

"What are you thinking about?" Thor asked eventually.

"I'm trying to figure out if you're more of a Dom or a sub," Loki said.

Thor couldn't do a spit-take as he wasn't drinking at the moment; the coughing fit was the next best thing. 

"What are you—" Thor said.

"I'm joking," Loki said. "Relax. I'm not going to invite you to my dungeon. _Yet_." He slurred the word, faux-seductively. 

Thor buried his flushed face in his hands, his shoulders trembling with laughter. "Are you even into this stuff or are you playing with me?"

"Oh, who knows? I might be," said Loki, who wasn't, not really. While the idea was undoubtedly appealing in theory, he doubted getting himself tied up and left at someone's mercy would end well for him. As for taking so much responsibility for somebody else's pleasure – he couldn't even be trusted with his own shitty life. No.

But he was a quick learner.

He smirked at Thor all the way through the rest of their meal and, when it came down to the awkward "who's going to cover the bill" routine, he pulled out his own wallet and hissed at Thor to back off.

"I invited you," he said. "You can pay the next time."

Assuming there would be a next time. And—oh. 

Well, shit. Seeing the bill made him instantly regret his generosity, but he would be damned if he would back off now. Some of that must have shown on his face because Thor was watching him intently, with a look that could have only been interpreted as concern.

"Oh, relax," Loki said, dismissively. "It's not my money anyway."

At that Thor pressed his lips together, trapped somewhere between amusement and exasperation. 

***

Later, when they were out in the street, Thor shot Loki a smug look. "Next time?" he said. "Does it mean it is a date?"

"It is not," Loki said firmly.

Their not-date took them to a painfully stupid action movie which they both hated. At least they could sit in the back in relative silence. Though it wasn't long before Loki snapped, no longer able to hold off his comments at the travesty that was unfolding before their eyes. Thank heavens Thor seemed amused by them. 

"I can't believe I paid money for this," Loki shook his head afterwards.

"Honestly, I can't believe it either," Thor said. "I took you for the hipster artistic type."

"You weren't wrong," Loki said loftily. "But I didn't want to bore you."

Bored. Thor didn't seem bored, did he? Loki considered himself fairly apt at reading people, if only so that he could determine what pissed them off the most and then milk it for what it was worth. But now – he was quite sure Thor enjoyed himself. Maybe. Although he was nowhere near figuring out why.

They stood outside the cinema building, in the chilly darkness of the evening. Thor's shining blond hair and posture attracted a fair amount of attention from the people milling around them. Loki could hardly blame them for staring.

There was anticipation in Thor's gaze. He was clearly waiting for Loki's move, content to let the evening play out the way Loki intended it to. Except Loki had no idea what he intended. Up until now he had simply grabbed whatever cliché he could lay his hands on and prayed that the awkwardness wouldn't be too palpable.

All in all the evening was—pleasant. But it lacked something. The intensity of their first meeting, for example. And although Thor was still drop-dead gorgeous, there was a slight change in him. He was more guarded, for one thing. More distant. 

Loki swallowed. Not unexpected, that. In fact, it would be a shame if Thor had shown up all open and trusting. But he was being curious, polite and attentive – and painfully genuine about all these things.

He wasn't sure what it was he had wanted, but it most certainly wasn't this. It was, in fact, infuriating. Gone was the blissful aura of anonymity, the exciting touch of danger. Thor had a mother and father, whom Loki knew and loathed; and kindness, dignity and a sense of humour. All of that didn't fit with the idea Loki had constructed in his head. All the edges had been softened. And they were what he craved – edges, sharp enough to cut. Not dates and small talk.

This was pointless. Not what he needed at all.

"What now, then?" Thor said, watching him.

"Now," Loki licked his dry lips. "You will go home, to your very nice apartment. And I'm going to find the nearest bar, get a little drunk, and then fuck a stranger."

"Loki."

There was, _finally_ , a dangerous edge to Thor's voice. He stepped right into Loki's personal space – it might have seemed intimate from a distance, but any onlookers missed the glint in Thor's blue eyes, or the flex of his fingers.

This was perhaps the closest they had been this evening. Loki took the opportunity to sway forward and inhale Thor's cologne, with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. 

Maybe the night was salvageable after all.

"Mhm, what?" he said. "I would go back to prepare for another trial, but I am _definitely_ in the mood to suck someone's cock tonight."

They were in public and Thor couldn't simply shove him against the nearest wall. Though, judging by the expression on his face, he very badly wanted to.

"Come back with me," Thor said hoarsely.

"Are you offering?" Loki's voice dropped about an octave. He was thrilled to see Thor shiver. This stubbornness of his couldn't last long, after all.

Whatever Thor saw in him – a curiosity, most likely – he was a possessive man by nature. He wouldn't let Loki just waltz off into somebody else's arms, not while he still believed he had a claim on him. He was—

\--he was something else, that's for sure. And for Loki, to fall down so far and so fast, yet again content to be someone's plaything, clamour for Thor's attention the way he did, for his brilliant smiles and flaring anger, for the way he looked at Loki—

\--no, this was a mess. And what was worse, this was a mess that wouldn't last.

Loki closed the distance and yanked Thor's hair and the front of his shirt, kissing him, deep and filthy. He cared very little for who watched.

"Well?" he asked, panting, with a wicked smile. Thor's resolve crumbled before his eyes, if his desperate hold on Loki was any indication.

"Come with me," Thor said, squeezing Loki's middle with one hand, the other grabbing the back of his head.

"That's not an answer," Loki said.

"I'm not what you need," Thor said, low and urgent. "You need help, Loki, and I don't know how to help you—"

Loki froze in his arms. Then he tried to get away, because Thor was being ridiculous yet again. But it seemed Thor's patience had worn off.

"I don't want to be your distraction," he was saying. "I want more than that. And I would rather wait until you're ready to give me a chance, a real chance—"

"Let me go," Loki hissed. 

He was so done. So, so done. Thor was staring at him like Loki was actively trying to _hurt him_ which was foolish and insulting and not even close to the truth. Things were going well between them, so wonderfully, perfectly well, until Thor decided to ruin everything.

In the end he had no stomach for bars and drinks or strangers, not after leaving Thor on the sidewalk with such a pathetically sad expression, like he was genuinely hurt. Like any of this was Loki's fault.

He went straight home and drunk himself dry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki is a dick. And then there are actual dicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many, many thanks to everyone who's taking the time to read this thing! Oh, and I apologize for any mistakes as it is still tragically unbeta'd.

What a splendid, spectacular mess. What a staggering, colossal waste of time. How talented he was, how meticulous, when it came to screwing things up.

Upon entering his apartment, Loki kicked off his shoes and threw the coat on the floor. Then he fell face-down on the bed, and would have banged his head against the pillow, but didn't. Because it would be childish.

After today's hearing, Loki was more than convinced that Odin _hadn't_ been bluffing. At least not with an empty hand. And he was angry with Loki, for some unimaginable reasons.

His wretched mood wasn't improved by the phone ringing in his pocket. He ignored it, and it stopped; and then picked up again. Throwing it against the nearest wall wasn't an option, since he couldn't afford a new one. And neither was turning it off, because one of Odin's conditions that Loki had stupidly agreed to was that he would always be available for contact.

So he picked it up, eventually, with a crisp, "Go fuck yourself."

There was a sigh at the other end.

"Hello, Loki."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Do forgive me," Loki said, for once more or less sincere. "I mistook you for someone else."

"My husband, no doubt," Frigga said.

"Well, yes." He forced fake cheerfulness into his voice. "This is a much more pleasant surprise. How can I be of service?"

"You could start by being honest with me," Frigga said, though everything in her tone of voice suggested it was an option even she couldn't believe in.

Because that was what he needed right now. Her disappointment—but why was she surprised? Why _every time_ Loki fucked something up Frigga would only look at him like she was _sad_ , like she was honestly expecting _better_ of him, against all reason, logic, and sense?

And why did he keep falling for it?

"Is it about Thor?" he asked.

"It is," Frigga said mildly.

Ah. Of course it was. It was always someone else, someone more important—why would she call otherwise?

"I haven't done anything to Thor," Loki said, and thought, _Yet._

"And yet he keeps asking about you," Frigga said. "He seems genuinely hurt. Every time you two meet, I get the feeling that Thor is more miserable."

The pressure in his throat grew worse. Of course. Of course he was making Thor miserable. Thor, who radiated self-confidence, borderline arrogance, needed all of what, three meetings with Loki to start appearing miserable to his own mother?

He would have laughed. Oh, how he would laugh, if only his throat would let him. Truly, his talents knew no bounds. This was _brilliant_.

"Loki," Frigga said, so soft it was painful to hear. "I don't mean to accuse you of anything. And really, I would rather have this conversation eye to eye, but—I need to ask you _why_. Are you doing this on purpose--?"

_Of course--_ "Of course I am," he said lazily. "Did you honestly expect me to play nice?"

Oh, how worried they were for poor, precious Thor. Thor, whose only crime was that he fell for Loki's pretty lies and wicked smiles. 

Frigga was silent for a very long time.

"I don't believe you," she said quietly. "You aren't cruel, Loki."

Well this was reaching new levels of absurdity. He laughed and laughed, at her charming naiveté, at her concern for her dear little son, military trained and yet helpless against the monster that was Loki. How _hilarious_ of her to assume anything but the worst about him—

\--except he wasn't laughing. He wanted to, he could hear it, but his throat was dry and he couldn't breathe.

"Just—try, will you? Thor's done nothing to you, and he likes you a great deal. If you can't return his kindness at least don't deceive him."

"Aren't you going to warn me to stay away? That's what Odin did," Loki said, hating how small he sounded.

"And how did that work out for anyone?" Frigga laughed a little. "You are very stubborn, the both of you. And Loki—I know you don't mean to hurt him. I know that. Thor knows this also. You aren't half as bad as you believe yourself to be—"

"Shut up," he whispered.

Whatever else she wanted to say, Loki wasn't interested in hearing. He tossed aside the phone, turned off everything, and took enough sleeping pills to ensure he wouldn't have to dream at all.

***

The worst part of waking up was—everything, actually.

He had slept in his suit, for one thing. And all his problems hadn't magically disappeared, which was thoroughly disappointing.

Nevertheless. Through a heroic effort, he picked himself up and sorted himself out. Deciding to take advantage of this new burst of energy, Loki also cleaned his apartment and made dinner. Everything—everything to postpone the moment when he would have to sit down on the couch and stew in boredom.

For an inanimate object, the couch was a fearsome place indeed. He couldn't recall the number of times he managed to get out of bed, only to collapse afterwards, for another four-hour nap he would, inevitably, wake up from when the nightmares started. After that, he would be even more tired. Even more useless.

But yes, the boredom was the worst. He hadn't realised how much he had enjoyed the relative anonymity of his previous life until Odin's wrath descended upon him. Now? He could hardly spend money he didn't have on entertainment, on account of not having it. Going to a club or a concert to pickpocket people wasn't really an option. Pulling anything more fun would be even dumber.

There were people he could call – if talking to them didn't make him want to vomit. True, there was more money in team-up operations, but the inevitable game of who-will-betray-whom grew tiresome over time.

Just his rotten luck that the people Odin was interested in weren't the kind Loki would dare to betray.

He tried to remember what it was he did for fun, back when he was younger and "fun" was something he could actively engage in. Reading, probably. Playing the harp – but it had been years, and his fingers were stiff with disuse. Ice-skating, because it was both elegant fun and potential bloodshed.

With a critical eye, he examined his collection of books – boring, boring, extremely boring, simply atrocious, guilty pleasure, even more boring – but then his heart caught in his throat.

He remembered that one. It was one of—Frigga used to give him books. One for Christmas, one for his birthday, a couple for no occasion whatsoever. And he hadn't—he ought to have gotten rid of them.

Well. He could gather them now and mail them back to her. A slow smile spread on his face. This was a pleasant, burning little thought – would she even recognize them, or had she forgotten? How would she interpret that? Because Loki for sure appreciated the symbolism.

Splendid. He could even attach a note. "Next time, waste your charity on someone who cares"? Nah, pathetic. And terribly transparent, given that he kept the books all these years. "Thanks for the fun, won't need it in prison"? Speaking of, what _could_ he even take to prison? Maybe it was high time to start finding out.

He could hit Google. Or, alternatively, visit Laufey and ask.

Loki gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. No, there was no point in pretending he had forgotten – or that what he felt wasn't fear. Laufey was something he had long banished from his mind but it _clung_ \- a tar-like shadow in the sharp corners of his mind. 

Yet another reason to—yet another reason _not to_. 

His eyes drifted to the balcony, and his mind to the pavement below. If he ever worked up the courage – well, he knew what he would do beforehand. Mail the books to Frigga – yes. This was wonderful. So pointlessly, splendidly spiteful and cruel. Maybe that would finally convince her she was wrong about him.

Loki shook his head, and laughed and laughed. 

Because who was he kidding? She probably didn't even remember. Most likely, she wouldn't even care.

***

Next Saturday, somebody was hammering at his door.

Loki froze.

That wasn't—was it the police, or Thanos' people, or someone else he had pissed off and forgotten about it—he hadn't heard anything.

Damn. He was watching Netflix, a sure way to shut down his brain. All the lights were on. The sounds were probably audible through the door. There was no point in pretending he wasn't here, but he could climb out of the window—

"Loki! Open up!" 

Thor? What on earth was _Thor_ doing here?

Loki scrambled up and paused for a second in front of the mirror, to fix his appearance. God bless vanity, mother of all sins – he _had_ washed and straightened his hair, and even his casual around-the-house clothes were black and green, and reasonably tight while still remaining comfortable.

But good lord, there was something indescribably sad about the way his heart lurched when he saw Thor on his doorstep. He appeared to be alone. Loki checked thoroughly through the peephole – but his eyes kept drifting back, bound by some strange gravity.

A clever thing to do would be to leave the chain hooked on the door before opening them – so Loki unhooked it instead. Because if Thor felt like attacking him, well, he was more than welcome to.

Thor didn't attack him, but the thunderous expression he wore, the intensity of his lovely blue eyes – it was almost as good.

"Hello," Loki said. "Where did you get my address?"

"I checked your records," Thor said. God, even the angry rumble of his voice was alluring.

"I don't think you are allowed to do that," Loki said, before stepping aside to let Thor in.

Damn. He almost forgot how good Thor looked. Or the unbelievable girth of his arms. 

"So sue me," Thor said, careless and arrogant. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you staring at?"

"You," Loki said. If he were sappy he would have added that the view was almost blinding. "Am I not allowed to stare?"

"Not like that, you aren't," Thor said, and there was a chilly note in his voice.

"Like what?"

"Like you were happy to see me."

Loki snorted. "What, am I not allowed to be happy?"

"No, you can be happy. You are just not allowed to lie about it."

Thor held his gaze while the smile – first genuine smile in days, and not just a forceful pull that made his muscles strain – faded from Loki's face. The only other available emotion was disdain, so Loki latched onto it.

"Well? What can I help you with, Odinson?" he sneered. "What made you deign to set foot in the nest of vipers?"

Thor ignored him. Loki strongly disliked being ignored.

"You haven't been returning my calls," Thor said, marching into Loki's living room like he had every right to be there. There he bent over – oh, spectacular – and picked up Loki's phone. "Father said you agreed to keep it on—"

"Oh, for the love of—don't you people have more interesting subjects to discuss?"

Thor spared him a short glance.

"This is serious, Loki."

"Does it really pain Odin so much, that he can't check up on me at his leisure?" Loki said. "Is he that desperate for control that a few hours is enough to set his goons on me?"

Thor gripped the phone and looked at him coldly.

"Has it occurred to you," he said – arrogant, patronising, like he was talking to an unruly child; Loki seethed. "That you are in actual danger? And those measures of control are for your own protection?"

"A real shame it would be, were Odin deprived of a potential source of information," Loki said, trying to find balance between bitterness and amusement. "Has he considered a tracking device? Or a collar?"

"Keep talking and I will be putting one on you myself," Thor said.

That was certainly a pleasant image to consider. Before he could say so, Thor was marching right into Loki's personal space. 

"Your pin code," he demanded, shoving the phone at Loki's face. "Now."

Loki rolled his eyes. It was foolish of him, true, but he had been itching to find out what would happen if he turned off the damned thing. Saturday morning seemed a good time – not least because the unanswered calls were mounting up – and he enjoyed a few hours of relative peace.

"Do tell your father," Loki said lazily, punching in the code. "Next time he wants to bug somebody's phone, he should do so with an extra battery and a different source of signal."

Thor raised his eyebrows at him.

"Yes, how foolish of my father to expect you to keep your word when your own safety is on the line," Thor said.

Loki wondered, idly, if Thor was playing dumb, or if he genuinely didn't know. There was an extra tracking device – it took a while to find it, and Loki almost broke the thing in the process, goddamn useless smartphones – and keeping the phone turned on was possibly a test. Which he had failed.

"Are you running errands for the law department, now?" Loki said.

"No. I volunteered to check up on you."

"Aww," Loki couldn't help the malicious grin. "You _like_ me?"

The look Thor gave him was full of simmering anger. Gone, at least, was the hurt confusion which had haunted Loki since their last horrible not-date.

"I don't understand you," Thor said. "Why are you doing this to yourself, Loki?"

"It amuses me," Loki said, shrugging.

The phone in his hand chimed – a text message, detailing all the unanswered calls he had gotten while it was switched off. He scrolled through them – Thor and Frigga, mostly, and an ex-directory number that was likely to be Odin's.

He fought down the mixture of feelings that was coiling inside him. Perhaps. Perhaps they really _were_ worried. Perhaps Thor volunteered to rush in, expecting to find Loki dead or gone, either kidnapped or on the run. Perhaps—

He shook his head, the phone nearly cracking in his grip. He was being foolish again, as he was wont to do. It was pragmatism, nothing more. Frigga knew he was likely to pick up her calls, because he was a sad pathetic baby. Thor could reasonably expect him to open the door. Odin probably wanted to yell.

"Is that all?" he asked. Now was the time to wrap himself in hatred and detachment; Thor's presence was, for once, an unwelcome distraction.

Yes, Thor would leave, and Loki would be all alone again. And glad for it.

***

Three hours later, halfway through a Netflix marathon and pizza, Thor eyed him lazily.

"Something bothering you?"

Loki seethed. Thor had unceremoniously sprawled himself all over Loki's sofa. His long legs were kicked up, and his T-shirt rode up a little, teasing the sight of his abs. The only way they could both fit comfortably was if Loki lay down with his back against Thor's chest – and, given the teasing smirk, that was probably the idea.

Loki contented himself to sit down on the floor, leaning against the sofa, with a safe distance between himself and the enticing heat of Thor's body. His pride was intact but his aching tailbone protested strongly.

"I would have thought you had places to be," he said, not bothering to keep the hostility out of his voice. His fingers slid over the neck of the bottle of beer before he managed to get a firm grip on it.

"I had plans," Thor said. "Which I cancelled to check up on you. The least you can do is enjoy my company."

"Don't you have actual friends?" Loki said. The idea smarted a little, if he were to be honest with himself - _which you never are_ \- because Thor probably did. And yet here he was.

"Don't you?" Thor said.

Loki snorted. "What do you think?"

It felt better that way, when they didn't have to face each other. Something nonsensical was happening to the plot of whatever it was they were watching, and Loki entertained himself for a while trying to follow it.

"I asked my parents about you," Thor said eventually. 

"I am ever so delighted to be the topic of your dinner conversations," Loki said coolly.

"Can you blame me for being curious?"

At that, Loki laughed. "What exactly it is you are curious about, Odinson? We barely even know each other." 

One night of wild shagging, two disastrous dates. That was their history. Why did Thor insist on acting like he had any interest whatsoever in being a part of Loki's messed up life? 

"I thought you were interested in knowing me," Thor said, a touch wistfully.

"In the biblical sense, yes," Loki said. Damn. He could see Thor's sad, wounded expression, even when he wasn't looking at his face.

"So you don't have any questions?" Thor said. "None whatsoever?"

"No," Loki lied. "You are not that interesting."

Thor was silent. Loki wondered if there had been a line somewhere he had crossed – somersaulted over, more like. 

He focused his eyes on the laptop screen, and the bitter taste of beer washing down his throat. The problem was – well, he had great many problems. And whenever he was alone, he felt that his thoughts were spinning in circles. Around Thor they were, at least, running in the same direction – even if that direction was "away".

"Are you still in the army?" he asked, first question of the top of his head, before Thor got fed up and left.

"Do you even care?" Thor said. 

"I wouldn't ask otherwise," Loki said.

"Don't lie to me."

"You keep accusing me of it—"

"Shut up," Thor said, low and commanding and very distant. "Of course you don't care. Because you are Loki, and yours is the only pain that counts."

He opened his mouth to reply and found none. Because this wasn't new. He knew he was selfish. There was room for exactly one person in Loki's world, and it felt alternately too much and too little. And Thor was self-confident and kind-hearted and wonderful – what did _he_ know about pain?

A clink of the glass on the coffee table – Thor was setting down his empty bottle of beer. The show was still going on, meaningless in the background.

"If that's what you want, I will sleep with you," Thor said. "But only if you talk to me."

"That's blackmail," Loki said hollowly. "Between the two of us, I was expecting myself to be the one to make such an offer."

Except—except he had nothing to offer. And Thor must have known it.

"Can you at least look me in the eye when you are lying to me?" Thor said with a sigh.

There was exasperation there, tired patience – and Loki was sick of it, all of a sudden. He lied. That was what he did. If Thor had a problem with that, well, he could fuck right off.

"Of course I can," Loki said easily. Thor moved to make room for him on the couch – with some careful manoeuvring they could sit across from each other. 

Thor's expression was stormy – even more so when Loki presented with his best smile: innocent and vaguely confused by any implication otherwise. He could make his eyes wide and gullible and his posture unguarded. It was what he went with when he tried to appear harmless and trustworthy; it was how he first approached Thor.

"So?" Loki said, with nothing except polite interest – a concerned friend. "Are you still in the army?"

"No," Thor said. "I've been discharged."

That was—surprising. "Why?"

"I've made a couple of bad calls," Thor said. "Apparently I have a tendency to be reckless. One of the men under my command got injured in the process." There was no bitterness in Thor's voice, only genuine sadness. "He is better now – almost entirely well. But it was enough to put my competence as a leader in question."

Loki wasn't sure what to say to that. Thor luckily wasn't waiting for a response – he wasn't even looking at Loki, only smiling ruefully, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.

"You know, this is something I always wanted to do. Ever since I was a kid," he said. "Something I was sure I would be good at. And now it turns out I was wrong."

"So what did you do?" Loki asked.

"When I got back? Went to a bar, got drunk. Slept with the first person who seemed as miserable as I felt."

_Oh._ "Oh? And how was it?"

"Good," Thor said. "He is a pain in the ass, though."

Loki coughed. Thor was smiling at him now - _at_ him. Not over, not around. 

"And what are you going to do now?" Loki said.

"I have no idea," Thor said. "I came back home – and before you ask, my parents have been very understanding. Yes, even father." He paused for a moment. "Well. In his own way." His brow furrowed. "That is, mother assures me he's not disappointed."

Loki smirked. He would have to trust Frigga's judgement on this one, because as far as he was concerned, "disappointed" was Odin's default expression.

"I would give you advice," Loki said. "But I'm not exactly known for making good life choices."

"No, you're not," Thor said, his smile softening the jab of his words. 

His bright blue eyes were still on Loki, and Loki wriggled in discomfort. What was expected of him? He had no idea. Thor was bright, larger-than-life; any obstacle before him stood no chance anyway. He could tell Thor to be patient, but patience implied idleness. Thor would probably not appreciate sitting idly by and waiting for his life to start making sense again.

"Are you going to tell me something about yourself?" Thor said when it became clear Loki wouldn't be saying anything else on the subject.

"What did your parents tell you?" Loki asked. Before he could think better of it – before he lost courage. It wasn't that he cared, not exactly. But it was clever to consider the other party's perspective, wasn't it?

"Not much," Thor said. "My mother used to work in this programme. They picked up talented kids and offered them education. And you were some sort of child prodigy—" he eyed Loki dubiously, and Loki couldn't help but snort.

"Believe it or not," he said.

"So what did you do that was so brilliant?"

Loki tried to focus on that. It seemed so far away – years ago. All of it, completely meaningless now. "Maths, mostly. Physics. Music. I was also a relatively good actor, I'm told."

"Oh, that I can believe easily," Thor said. Loki grinned at him. "And you were at some sort of juvenile detention centre back then. My father pulled you out. They paid for your school, offered you a scholarship—"

"—yes, everything was peachy and perfect," Loki said, growing bored with the story. "Until they caught me throwing the money on drugs one too many times. Lost the scholarship, fell out of the organisation's good graces." He shrugged. "Your father treated me to a particularly interesting lecture about gratitude and wasted opportunities. Very entertaining."

Thor was biting his lip, and the sight was enticing enough that it pulled Loki back to the present, where he no longer had to hear Odin telling him that he would, essentially, amount to nothing.

Well. The old man was proven right. How happy that must have made him.

Loki moved before he could think better of it, practically sneaking his way into Thor's lap. He took Thor's face in his hands, his skin catching on the rough stubble.

"I believe there's something you promised me," he purred, delighted by the way Thor's pupils widened. 

Thor's hands were tightening around his waist and Loki shivered. Thor's skin was electric to touch, barely enough to house the storm beneath it. He dropped a kiss to Thor's temple, and then the tip of his nose, because it was close and he _could_. Thor looked up at him and smiled – soft, happy. Loki didn't know how to do soft and happy so he kissed him instead.

Oh. He willed his mind to focus on that – the press of Thor's lips, the wet drag of his tongue, and the texture of his beard. He felt Thor's hand slip under his shirt, and the warmth it massaged into Loki's skin. He felt—

Lightheaded. It was almost bizarre, Loki thought. He was straddling Thor's lap, which meant that with every hitch of his hips he could rub his cock against Thor's abs. They had far too many clothes between them – far, far too many. Any movement between them, any shift of Thor's muscles, or the blunt edge of his nails digging into Loki's ribcage – it all sent sparks down Loki's spine.

The building pleasure was almost an afterthought, Loki realized. Almost.

Thor stopped kissing him to nip at his neck – something he was quite fond of doing, Loki was coming to learn. His tongue softened the drag of his teeth; he was smiling, against Loki's skin, and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Loki's collarbone, his arms tightening to bring Loki closer. 

It was all bizarre. Loki curled upon himself, wrapped as he was in Thor's embrace, tangling his hands in Thor's bright golden hair. His arms rested on Thor's wide shoulders. He would have pushed him away—he wanted to. He had to.

He was trembling, stumbling, _falling_. But Thor held him, so close and so tight, his hands resting on Loki's hips now, his erection poking Loki's thigh and the cleft of his ass. Thor seemed oddly unperturbed by that, as if he wanted nothing more—

"Stop," Loki said. He was breathless. He couldn't breathe when he was falling.

"What is it?" Thor said. He stopped and leaned back to look at Loki and – God, he was beautiful. 

"Just—stop," Loki said. His face was flaming with embarrassment, because—

He was coming undone, just like that, and he _didn't want that_. He didn't need any of this, shouldn't have started this. 

Thor was looking up at him in quiet confusion.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to cup the back of Loki's neck. His thumb caressed the angle of Loki's jaw. 

Loki bit his lip, searching for some kind of self-control. Thor's eyes were sky-blue, so kind and open; there was no malice to look for, no ulterior motives that could stop his fall.

He leaned down and kissed Thor again, and his heart lurched. It was pure arousal, surely. Desperation, nothing more. 

"Why are you doing this?" Loki asked, panting for breath, his eyes screwed shut.

"Because I like you," Thor said, simply. "And I told you already, I want more out of life than to offer you a quick distraction."

Loki couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking now with amusement instead of helpless arousal.

"Thor, really. If you want to wait for me to reach the kind of emotional maturity needed to sustain an adult relationship—" he didn't _yelp_. He didn't – not even when Thor stood up, casually, and _carried him to the nearest wall_.

"Yes?" Thor asked, with a smug smile. Loki had the wall at his back and Thor in front of him. His trembling limbs clung to Thor, wrapping themselves around his shoulder and waist, still shocked.

And—wow. Loki wasn't a small man, not by any standards. He was barely an inch shorter than Thor himself. He did his fair bit of jogging and yoga, unless he forgot or was too miserable to move. And—

\--and Thor had picked him up, like he weighted nothing at all.

He tried to remember what he was saying. Something about—"you'll be waiting a long time, that's all."

"I don't intend to wait," Thor said. He claimed Loki's mouth for another kiss, like it was his god-given right to do so. Loki felt helpless to stop him.

The position seriously limited they manoeuvrability – Loki could scarcely move for fear of toppling them over, his legs wrapped around Thor's hips and refusing to budge even an inch. And, going by the faint tremors in Thor's powerful thighs, it wasn't as easy as it looked. Nevertheless, Loki's thoughts were still chasing each other in excited circles.

This was better, infinitely better. He could feel nothing but Thor's hands and mouth and body, hear nothing but his own breathless little moans. His cock twitched, trapped and neglected, and Loki shifted his hips, slightly, to seek friction like it was the most important thing in the world.

Thor's hand moved to his ass, palming it roughly, possessively. Loki silently cursed the fact that he hadn't undressed for this.

He nipped at Thor's jaw and caught the lobe of his ear between his teeth.

"Bedroom?" he breathed, his mouth pressing a damp kiss to the side of Thor's jaw. The answering shiver was delightful indeed.

"Yes," Thor said and—carried him, all the way. Loki would have been affronted but he was still giddy with excitement.

They undressed quickly, carelessly; Thor was faster and was therefore the first one on Loki's bed, drawing him in with a kiss to his chest. Then he laid back and watched as Loki straddled his lap. His cock was jutting out, flushed red and even more mouth-wateringly gorgeous than Loki remembered and dared to admit. 

Loki took it in hand and slid his palm up and down, pulling back at the foreskin to reveal the pink head. Rubbing the slit with his thumb elicited the most delicious moan from Thor's mouth.

Oh, this was splendid indeed. Loki worked upon him, glad to have some measure of control—to watch Thor rip apart at the seams—

Thor's head dropped onto the pillow. For a moment, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes tightly shut, flush high in his cheeks – he was the very picture of decadent pleasure. But then his eyes snapped open and focused.

Loki froze.

Damn. He had forgotten—

Thor was already scrambling up, his hand disappearing under the pillow. It came back holding the damned pocket knife.

It rested easily enough in Thor's grip, since Thor was accustomed to handling weapons – probably more sophisticated than that one. Loki waited for Thor to finish examining the knife, resentful of the frown on his face.

"Loki—" Thor said, confusion battling with suspicion.

"What?" Loki said. "Leave it. It's not important."

"You sleep with a knife under your pillow?"

Loki groaned. Why did Thor insist on asking questions with obvious answers was beyond him.

"I have for quite some time," he said. He took the knife from Thor's hand – and had a brief moment of panic, because Thor must have had some military instincts ingrained in his brain, and the momentary tightening of his fist as he refused to surrender the weapon to someone else was very telling. Loki, just in case, tossed it aside.

"I'm not going to murder you," Loki said, leaning forward to distract Thor with a kiss, his hand sneaking back to Thor's cock. "I'm not—" he began.

And what? Not going to hurt you? According to Frigga, he already had. Thor was stupid and gullible and naïve, coming here today. Believing Loki.

Loki shuddered. That wasn't the only knife he had in his possession – he rarely left home without one – and he had enough practice in handling one to, at the very least, scare someone into backing off. It wouldn't save him, but he slept better, with one hand curled beneath the pillow. It was a _promise_ of safety, nothing more.

His efforts proved distracting enough for Thor but Loki couldn't focus. 

Thor had called him selfish; and he was right. But he seemed to want things from Loki, things which Loki couldn't give, didn't know how to give – and was it worth it? For the moment of pleasure, something as base and pointless as an orgasm – only to wait with baited breath until Thor realized Loki was empty, that there was nothing here but disappointment. And then he would leave.

He would leave.

Loki tried to control his breathing and prayed that Thor wouldn't notice. But he was shaking. His fingers were losing the surety of their grasp, slipping purposelessly over Thor's hot silky flesh. 

Damn. He wouldn't fuck that up—except he was going to. Was there literally _nothing_ he could get right? Not even this? Not even with Thor – gorgeous, perfect Thor, who seemed to want him just fine, who looked at and touched Loki with genuine pleasure?

Loki broke the kiss, realizing with a start that he had bit Thor's lip – Thor seemed too dazed out to care, thankfully. But Loki stared, transfixed, at the tiny droplet of blood at Thor's pink lips; and found himself unable to move.

"Loki?" Thor was asking, from somewhere very far away.

Thor's hard cock was still in his hand, pulsating faintly. His bright blue eyes were floating somewhere in Loki's field of vision, blurry and unfocused.

"Are you okay?"

Thor's hands were smoothing out the hair from Loki's face, cupping his cheek. Loki's heart beat wildly, rabbit-fast and with no rhythm at all.

Damn. Damn it all—

Thor was pulling him into his embrace, all solid muscle and hot skin, clammy with sweat as it was. He was murmuring something, a nonsensical stream of soothing words that poured into Loki's ears. Loki tried to focus on that, on anything – his own breathing, for example.

In, out. He longed for a cigarette. Watching the smoke helped – a visible sign that he was breathing at all. In, out—

In. Out. His lungs were no longer burning. He was coming down to his senses – enough to realize he was clinging to Thor. 

Great, Loki thought. Just great. He curled his lips and tightened his fists. He was being a needy, clingy, useless piece of shit. As usual.

"You're fine," Thor was telling him, his mouth close to Loki's ear. "You're alright—"

"Spare me," Loki said coldly. 

He extracted himself from Thor's embrace, careful not to look at Thor's face before he regained some measure of control over his features. He was prepared to face it, once it came. The mockery, the disappointment – he had had his fair share of both. Thor's wouldn't be that hard to handle.

Except—except there was none. No matter how hard he looked – just blue eyes, wide with concern; and a serious expression.

"I—apologize," Loki said stiffly. "This was a terrible idea. I shouldn't have insisted—"

"Loki," Thor said. "It's okay. Please, relax—"

Loki's gaze was drawn to Thor's limping cock. There was a strange coldness blooming inside him. It was—it was almost funny.

"I think you should leave," he said. Already an ugly smile settled over his lips. "Your job here is more than done, isn't it?"

"Loki—"

"I will keep the phone on, if Odin cares so much," Loki said. He grabbed his clothes, strewn over his bedroom floor. It was so very messy – he loathed mess.

He pulled on trousers and shirt and then collected Thor's stuff, pushing it into his arms. His knife was still—ah. 

"Stop that," Thor said. "Loki, just—stop."

Loki laughed, low and broken. Because it really was that easy, wasn't it? To just _stop_?

He wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. No more dread, or shame, or fear. No more bills he couldn't pay, or choices he couldn't make, or lovers he couldn't please. No more anything.

Thor was pulling him, again, into an embrace – the fool. The stubborn fool.

"I want you to leave," Loki said hollowly. "Please."

"I want to stay," Thor said. "May I?"

Loki let out a shaking breath. And, because he was hopeless, he agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a Christmas Party at the House of Odin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am very deeply ashamed because this is astonishingly late. I honestly wanted to post it in time for Christmas but I was really busy – plus I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out. Also it's almost 7k, wtf. Oh, and before I forget, I'd like to mention that most of the stuff in this fic isn't really "poorly researched" as much as "made up on the spot". That said – um. Happy New Year, everybody!

Thor broke him. There was simply no other explanation.

Loki got up from his knees to take a better look at the guy he had been blowing. Not bad-looking – although it was hard to say, in the dim club lights and with his sweaty hair and pleasure-slacken face. His blond sweaty hair. Muscular frame. Stubble—

Loki bristled. None of it compared, not even closely. The hair colour was slightly off, the blue of his eyes wasn't enough, the musculature wasn't doing it—everything was off.

"Hey," the guy said breathlessly, his hands drifting to his spent cock. Presumably to take off the condom. "Thanks. You want—"

"No," Loki said coldly, and left.

He used to enjoy that, he thought forlornly. Going down on people used to be a pleasant experience, be they men or women. They were always that much more susceptible to Loki's pretend innocence after they saw him kneel. Plus he didn't need to fake his own pleasure.

God, but club music was atrocious. How did people stand this?

He sat at the bar and ordered a drink to wash off the taste from his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the guy exit the bathroom, still vaguely confused. No, he was certainly good-looking; he just wasn't Thor.

Loki downed the drink and then contemplated getting another, just to drown himself in it and put an end to his misery.

Thor had become _insufferable_. He was hovering. He was _coddling_ Loki. He called daily, and texted him, and "accidentally" dropped by when Loki ignored him for too long. One time he even brought Frigga over and then they _took him out to dinner_.

It was like they saw him as a fragile little thing, about to snap. Like they thought he couldn't take proper care of himself.

He smiled thinly. Well. At least it helped him to stop finding Thor desirable. Or perhaps it was the hot, shameful memory that was their last attempt at sex. But he was growing restless so he went to a club, aching for some kind of release.

Except he found none. After Thor, every other man seemed lacking. And women were generally less inclined to get off at a club and if he brought them home, Thor might—

Might what? Notice? Care? He seemed to have lost all interest in Loki. Not surprising, given what had happened. No, Thor now acted like some weird hybrid of a concerned friend, overprotective older brother and amateur therapist. It was all very unappealing.

Maybe he _should_ go through with this. Next time Thor "accidentally" came over, Loki could "accidentally" have someone at his apartment, just to show that he had moved on. With his luck, it would be enough to drive Thor away.

What a pleasant little thought that was. He floated on the haze of vindictive pleasure, all the way back. Once there he opted for a hot steamy shower because the stench clinging to his skin was simply awful.

Water pounded his head and shoulders, running rivulets down his body. The heat was just this side of painful – he was almost tempted to bring the temperature up a notch.

He exhaled, leaning his head against the tiled wall of the shower cabin. The thin streams felt like fingers carding through his hair; the air was humid, an inside of a sauna. He was hot all over.

Bottle of shower gel opened up with a click under his fingers. Its smell was chemical and yet so much more pleasant than the inside of a club, or that guy's sweat. He poured some of it onto his fingers and slid them down, over his chest and abdomen, running over his hips and inner thighs. The touch, the press of fingers – enough to make him shiver. 

Or would it be enough, Loki wondered. He stroke down the length of his cock, then took it fully in hand, feeling it harden. Could he even come from this – or would his mind betray its own body, again, sinking into depths when it should be giving in to pleasure?

It felt nothing like holding Thor. Nothing like the hot, thick pressure of it, the silky skin – he remembered, trembling, having it inside him, properly inside, splitting him open. Thor held him down, tightened his hands around Loki's hips, and drove in with unstoppable relentless waves of pure bliss. Loki's thighs shifted, spreading apart, his feet nearly slipping on the wet tiles. He rested his arm on the wall for additional support, the palm of his hand pumping his cock in earnest.

He thought about Thor. There was no use in pretending otherwise. Thor had the body of a god and stamina to match; that was all there was to him. That was the full extent of Loki's interest – his shoulders, his forearms, his hands. His thighs, his calves, the arch of his feet. His chest, his stomach, the jut of his hipbones, his curving cock with its pulsing vein and bright, pink head. His face – the shape of his upper lip, his beard, jaw, the blue of his eyes—

He was gasping for breath, all his muscles clenching. The water beat along his back and Loki trembled with the force of it, pushing forward, pressing his cheek to the wall. His fingers tightened around his cock, the other hand brushing over his balls, and further back, teasing at his hole—he could fool his mind into thinking it was a different hand, somebody else's, pushing in—

\--and then it was over. The pressure faded after one spark of pleasure, leaving behind only the stain of come on the shower wall. 

Loki stood catching his breath. He wiped the stain, mechanically. In his mind he could recall the first time when, spurred on by burning curiosity, he brought his fingers to his lips, to taste his own release. He must have been very young. Back then it had seemed like the filthiest thing in the world.

He wondered how Thor's would taste. If he would let Loki suck him off without a condom. And what was the statistical risk of catching an STD while doing that.

Well. There was no use in thinking about it, now. They were over, most definitely over. Because of Loki's—what? Freak out? Fuck if he even knew what this was supposed to be. It felt like his brain shutting down, curling in upon itself, relinquishing all control over the body. The sound of his own frantic heartbeat had been a foreign sensation to his ears. His fingers hadn't been his own. For the space of a few breaths, this body was just a shell.

He longed for something to ease his mind. Cigarettes – but he had been trying to quit. Every couple of months, he tried to quit, but it never stuck – days, weeks, months later, he would be too agitated. Unable to stop his feet and hands and mouth from making the purchase. And it was back to the foul smell and the soothing motion and the tiny puffs of white smoke.

He rubbed the spot between his eyebrows, feeling the build-up of a headache. His orgasm was a faint memory now. These days no kind of relief really stuck for long. 

He dressed himself and sat in front of his laptop. It was the middle of the night, but it hardly mattered, didn't it? His bills were mounting up – rent, phone, internet connection, electricity, water, gas, taxes, public transport, clothes, groceries – shit. What could he give up most easily, Loki wondered.

Money. He needed money. And there was—an abhorrent option, but an option nonetheless.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a while he began to type.

***

"So what do you usually do for Christmas?" Thor asked over Starbucks, during their next weekly 'make sure Loki's still alive' date.

"Fake charities," Loki said.

Thor paused and measured him with that particular, searching gaze that Loki learned to interpret as "please tell me you're joking".

Loki pressed his lips together, stirring his ginger-flavoured whipped cream latte macchiato with the straw. The drink was way too milky and sweet – but that was the spirit of Christmas, wasn't it? Fake cheer. Too much candy. Cavities. Smiling at people you hate.

His mind drifted back – when was the last time he celebrated Christmas, properly? There used to be a tree in the living room, with presents underneath. Nothing extravagant, nothing original – they were all of them hopeless at buying thoughtful presents. But he remembered, nevertheless, the rush of excitement when he ran down the stairs on Christmas Day.

He was aggressively poking a bit of whipped cream before he realized what he was doing.

"I'm serious," he said. "It's the best time for that. Everyone's feeling so generous, so thoughtful. Trying to do their bit helping the poor and unfortunate," a smile crept onto his face. "Possibly to make up for the eleven months of not caring. Anyway, a couple of tearful tales and fake pamphlets can make a decent living."

The look of cold disapproval on Thor's face was sort of precious. But Loki's mind was already drifting—Helblindi and Byleistr would bring back the tree. When he was smaller, Loki trotted after them, a thin little child in his brothers' hand-me-down clothes. He had that hideous electric blue coat that used to be Helblindi's, and therefore several sizes too big. He chased them through the slush, unable to keep up, and they laughed—

He tightened his hands around the cup, willing some warmth into his fingers. There was never anything particularly interesting in the colourful boxes beneath the tree. But they looked so _bright_ , so _festive_ , full of endless possibilities. Unspeakable wonders, hidden under a layer of cheap wrapping paper; for a few seconds the world held its breath—and there it was. Socks, a scarf. Cheap plastic toy. Coal, if Byleistr was feeling particularly mean. _That's 'cause you're on Santa's naughty list,_ Byleistr told him with that gap-toothed grin. _Santa doesn't bring presents to naughty boys. Naughty boys who lie and steal. He knows what you did, Loki--_

Thor's eyes were fixated on him. 

"And what do you do? Dinner with your parents?" Loki said. He wondered if Frigga cooked. Somehow he could hardly imagine her in an apron over a tray of cookies – she had too much dignity about her. But she must have. All mothers cooked, did they not?

"Yes," Thor said. He was still frowning, and Loki let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not doing it this year," he said. "I'm not stupid enough to give your father more ammunition."

"That's not very reassuring," Thor said. He was clearly losing a battle against his own curiosity, the obvious question at the tip of his tongue. "If you don't mind me asking—"

"My mother's dead," Loki said curtly. "My father's in jail. Which I suppose you already know. And my brothers—fuck if I know where my brothers are."

He smiled at Thor, at his own memories. Helblindi had his own room, because he was the oldest. Loki and Byleistr shared, always fighting who would get to sleep in the top bunk, who was illegally trespassing on the wrong side of the floor, who touched whose stuff without permission—

He was smiling throughout it all. The smile was becoming a permanent fixture on his face. Byleistr and Helblindi had been secretive, for quite a while. Loki pretended he didn't care. Loki really didn't care. And then, one chilly morning, they were gone.

Maybe they had a good reason for abandoning him. Maybe everybody had reasons. Maybe none of it fucking mattered, and to hell with them all.

"Thanks for the coffee," Loki said, rising abruptly. He grabbed the half-full cup and tossed it in the nearest bin, storming out of the door, bumping into someone on his way and hissing his way through the crowd.

It was cold but not freezing. He wished it would be freezing outside. He would have stripped himself naked, nothing between himself and snow, heat evaporating from his body. All of the warmth, sucked out into the gaping hole that was this nightmare of a holiday, always demanding _more_ \- more glitter, more pointless gifts, more food, more candy, more dishonest well-wishes, more tiring parties, more empty bottles of wine, more broken promises—

His eyes prickled. Fuck.

"Loki," Thor said quietly. 

Loki looked upwards, stubbornly upwards. The street lamps emitted sickly yellow light. Streets were covered in disgusting slush. He couldn't see any stars in the sky, not in this stinking city.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Thor said.

"You didn't," Loki said coolly. "I'm not upset."

"Will you come to my Christmas party?" Thor said. He kept his hands to himself, thank heavens. If he touched Loki, if he tried to hold him again, Loki would break down completely.

"No," he said. "But thank you for asking."

Thor sighed. "Please?"

"Why do you want me there?"

"I just do," Thor said. "Do you have other plans?

"Yes," Loki said. He gave Thor a sharp, cold look over his shoulder. "And if you feel any need to insist due to some misplaced sense of obligation, then—"

"I do," Thor said in a low voice, growing angrier by the minute. "I do feel the need to insist. And, believe it or not, it's actually because I enjoy your company."

"My company is not very enjoyable," Loki said. Isn't that what everyone always told him? Oh, he knew that. He was sullen and unpleasant, downright cruel. And damn it all, he wouldn't stoop down to pretending otherwise, just to fulfil Thor's need for self-complacency.

"It would be if you tried being _nice_ to people," Thor said. "This isn't rocket science, Loki."

Oh, good lord. Thor's optimism was adorable. As if there was anything Loki could do to change his basic nature. He had long since made peace with the fact that he was a complete misanthropic bastard; being open about the fact only served to spare everyone disappointment.

"I will keep your stellar advice in mind," Loki said, snorting.

"Good," Thor said. "So about that party—"

"I'm not coming to your party," Loki said.

"Maybe you can think about it?"

No, he wasn't going to _think about it_. Thor had the right to spend a pleasant night in the company of his family and friends without dealing with Loki's mood swings. Truly, Loki was doing him a favour by refusing. 

Still, a thought was nagging at him—"If I did come would I be your—what?" Date? Fuckbuddy?

Thor frowned slightly. "I haven't thought about it," he said. "A friend, hopefully."

_Friend_. "I didn't realize we were friends," Loki said, feeling slightly nauseous. That right there was the final proof he needed – Thor was over him. Really, definitely over. Loki destroyed all his chances by losing control, breaking down in front of Thor; not surprising. Weakness wasn't attractive. The only thing it awoke in Thor were protective instincts.

The grimace on Thor's face was becoming more apparent. "What, did you think someone is paying me to take you out for coffee?"

"Well, what was I supposed to think?" Loki said pleasantly.

Oh, Thor's face held all the marks of an oncoming storm. What a lovely sight it was! His anger was so much more exciting than his pity. And since Loki meant nothing to him anymore, well—he could learn he meant nothing to Loki, as well.

His own damn fault, too. He had to know _friendship_ wasn't what Loki wanted from him.

Thor pressed his lips together, his eyes boring into Loki's. Only now did Loki realize Thor wasn't wearing his jacket. He must have forgotten it in his effort to catch up with Loki. 

"I will call you tomorrow," Thor said quietly. "And ask if you have changed your mind."

And he would only ask once. Unspoken, but obvious in the tone of his voice and the set of his shoulders. Loki bit back the venom the waited to spill from his tongue – and hated himself for it almost instantly. He had his pride. He had his own life—

_No you don't. You know it. Thor knows it. Why are you lying?_

"Okay," he said stiffly. "As you wish."

He would wait for the damn phone call. And ignore it. He wouldn't be reduced to begging for scraps of Thor's attention—

***

A week later, at the party, Loki said stiffly, "I'm a guest of Thor's."

The young woman who had posed the question eyed him warily. She had all the bearings of an officer – pride and strength and certain brutish stubbornness that was very Thor-like. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the wine-coloured dress hugged her well-toned body.

"Sorry," she said. "But this is the first time I see you."

"Is this surprising?" Loki asked innocently. "Or are you saying you spend all your time glued to Thor's side?" 

She narrowed her eyes at him. Her smile was sharp enough to cut.

"Your name is Loki, isn't it?"

"Oh, did Thor warn you about me?" he said. "Or did he merely apologize in advance?"

"He did neither," she said coldly.

"Well, he told me nothing of you," Loki said. "It seems unfair that you know my name but I don't know yours."

"My name is Sif," she said.

Loki smiled at her, wide and charming. She extended her hand to him, to squeeze a greeting – and Loki, with mad glee, took it and dropped a bow, pressing a kiss to her knuckles instead.

"My pleasure," he said, in a syrupy voice. "A beautiful name to match a beautiful face."

"Are you making fun of me?" Sif said, narrowing her eyes.

"I wouldn't dare," Loki told her solemnly.

"Yes, he would," Thor said. He approached them, clearly anticipating a fight. "Sif, this is Loki. I've met him two months ago. And Loki, this is Sif. She has been my best friend since childhood. You will be nice to her," and he reached out to lay an arm on Loki's shoulder, squeezing tightly to underline the commanding tone of his voice.

Sif's eyes flitted between them. There was jealousy there, yes – no greater than Loki's own. But he could not be certain if it was romantic in nature or not.

He considered dropping a kiss to Thor's cheek, just to find out. But—no. Just no.

Sif excused herself soon to greet some other friends, still glaring daggers at Loki. Thor's smile saw her off before he deigned to acknowledge Loki's presence. Then he was clapping Loki's back, and grinning at him.

"I'm glad you showed up," he said, warmth suffusing his voice. 

"I did say I would," Loki said, trying and failing to sound cheerful about it.

He still didn't know why he accepted Thor's damn invitation. The house - _Odin's house_ \- was packed full with people of various ages. The Christmas decorations, the festive spirit, the party food – all top-notch. Very impressive. Completely insufferable. But the thought of spending another day holed up and alone in his apartment made Loki want to scream. And so here he was.

"You look nice," Thor said. He must have been slightly inebriated already – Loki was scandalously late, after all – and his cheeks were reddened with it. 

"This isn't a date," Loki said, snorting. "But thank you. You don't look too shabby yourself."

There would come a day, Loki thought, when he would learn not to throw his money on clothes. But damn. He wasn't homeless yet; there was no need to look like he was.

"Thanks," Thor said, grinning. Damn. He looked good in red. So, so good. "I am serious though – be nice to Sif. And everyone else. If you think you can manage that."

"Relax, I will not embarrass you," Loki said.

"You had better not," Thor said, tightening his hold on Loki. It was likely meant to be threatening; to Loki's overactive imagination it seemed more possessive.

Well. Once Thor left, it was time to find some interesting people to be nice to, wasn't it?

***

Thor's friends were, down to almost every single one of them, obnoxious.

Loki managed to suffer at least a couple of small-talks before his brain gave up. He told one girl he was Thor's army buddy, and then spun an embarrassing tale of their meeting that had her laughing in stitches. He made up an Indie band and then watched a stuck-up guy in hipster glasses fall over himself pretending to know them. He told someone else he was an intern of Odin's, and went on a righteous tirade about the need for fewer leniencies towards repeat offenders.

Thor was right. Being nice _was_ fun.

Now, with the wine buzzing in his veins, he was stuck in a conversation with a pretty blonde. Her name was Sigyn, and she believed him easily when he told her he was an aspiring writer. He tried to not be too obvious while appreciating the curve of her breasts; and he wondered, idly, if she would be willing to let him fuck her in one of the spare guest rooms.

But then he spotted Frigga.

"Loki!" she said – with a smile that was either genuine, or really well-faked.

If she was here – of course she was, it was her house – then Odin must have been nearby. And sure enough; Odin was, presently, glaring at Loki from a distance.

"Merry Christmas," he said, trying not to flinch when Frigga pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Merry Christmas," she said. "I'm really glad you decided to show up."

"Oh, are you?" he drawled. 

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her voice remained polite. She exchanged a greeting with Sigyn. Loki stayed, for lack of any other option, bored to tears of their tedious small talk. But he feigned interest or, failing that, courtesy; and they were none the wiser.

He twirled the wine in his glass, pretending he hadn't been scanning the room for Thor's bright golden hair. Thor had his friends here – currently the five of them were at the balcony, pulled towards Thor with the same strange force that had its firm grip around Loki.

Bunch of posers, the lot of them. They thought themselves so grand – Sif, hanging around with boys because she was _so much better_ than ordinary girls. Fandral, that wannabe Casanova with an idiotic moustache. Volstagg, who had all the manners of a pig, and an appearance to match. And Hogun, who pretended his perpetual silence was a virtue and not a simple lack of imagination—

Loki pressed his lips together. He was being mean. Of course he was. But, damn them – Thor had stayed out at this balcony for almost an hour now. Never once did he look in Loki's direction. Surely Loki was allowed a little meanness in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Sigyn had wandered off somewhere and Frigga was picking up empty bowls of food to take them back to the kitchen.

"I thought you had people for this sort of thing," Loki said morosely.

"Occasionally, yes," Frigga said, sighing. "But Thor claimed it was supposed to be a small party. Just for his closest friends."

Loki snorted.

"Let me help you with that," he said, glad for an excuse to leave the room. The sound of laughter and conversations was beginning to give him a headache.

Much to Loki's surprise, the spacious, elegant kitchen was mostly deserted. There were some people, some other friends of Thor's, who expressed their delight at seeing Frigga, and exchanged a few words with her before running off. Loki was subjected to a number of puzzled looks, and little else.

It was quiet here, blissfully so. Fatigue was already impeding his motions and it was early still – he longed for his own bed. He wanted his solitude back. It was a foolish idea to come here today; he had managed to forget how exhausting it was to force himself to interact with people for extended lengths of time.

He needed a reason to stay away from the music and the crowds; so he started with the washing up.

"You don't have to do that," Frigga said.

"I want to," Loki said, because in here there was quiet. Quiet and dark. So much better than the crowded, brightly lit room.

He tried not to think too much. But he was drunk, and wine loosened his tongue. It used to be pleasant – and, like all sensations, it was beginning to lose its appeal. It only served to make him foolish, sentimental; it made him crave human contact, and say things he would regret the next morning.

Cigarettes were easier. If he were to choose the poison that would one day kill him, he would pick smoking – at the very least, it wasn't messing with his head.

"Remember when we first met?" Loki said, slowly. The memory was bright and vibrant in his head. So unlike many others—"You asked me to stop smoking."

"Well, you were way too young," Frigga said. She kept her voice low, as he did. Loki was glad he couldn't see her face.

"Maybe," Loki said. That was shortly after his thirteenth birthday. "But you asked me then. And every time after that. Every time, you would ask me—after a while I kept on carrying the cigarettes just to hear you say it."

Frigga was silent for a moment, before speaking. "I thought so."

Loki swallowed a bitter laugh. Most people gave up after the first five times. Her persistence was something new to him – and like with every new thing, he needed to test its borders. Push every limit, just—just so he wouldn't have to wait until it snapped. Sit idly, and wait, and watch.

He had little experience with patience before then. Punishment, though, he knew well. It had to come, sooner or later. And however bad it was going to be, it was infinitely better than _waiting for it_.

"You should have drawn your conclusions then," Loki said hoarsely.

"Conclusions?"

He wasn't going to waste his breath on explanations. Frigga had this very Thor-like optimism about her. So much faith in people. Loki would be a monster to rob her of it.

\--this was a good thing, wasn't it? He was being—thoughtful. Considerate. No, fuck, who was he kidding. He was selfish, down to his very core. But those _were_ good little thoughts; he tried to hold onto them, before they slipped out of his grasp. Before they turned out to be something vile and twisted.

"It's not important," he said, regaining some sort of composure.

"Loki," Frigga said. "If there's something you want to talk about—"

"No," he said. "There's nothing."

What could he possibly say to her? Apology—he owed her an apology. Definitely that. But he couldn't find one, no matter how hard he searched.

Damn – he didn't need to remember. Damn Thor for dragging this out of him—

***

Back then, when Frigga first found him, Loki was a mess. In all honesty not much more than he was now. Younger, though. More vulnerable. 

Through no small amount of effort he wound up at the detention centre. And the best part was the calming sureness that this was _it_. The lowest point; nowhere left to sink. But, oh – life was surprising. Endlessly surprising.

The ugly truth, and a major blow to his pride, was that he was lucky. Luckier than most. Lucky enough to be clever – and the adults loved that about him. Like the ability to do complex equations made him in any way better than those that couldn't. But—Loki really did believe himself to be better. Loki made fun of slower, stupider kids. Loki laughed in their faces when they beat him for it.

Most of his minders and teachers had quickly learned to distrust him. Nothing strange about that, as it was incredibly satisfying to mess with them. But Frigga's kindness came so freely, it was almost too easy to abuse it. He supposed the guilt came first – because she listened. She paid attention. She asked him questions. She had expectations. Loki was, back then, too short-sighted to care much about the scholarship and possible universities, but as long as he pretended to care, she would keep visiting him.

But even that wasn't enough, was it? 

She stopped visiting, and Loki stopped caring. None of it was her fault, of course. It was merely part of her job, and now that it was done she could move on. He knew she had a son of her own, because she had told him so; and God, she smiled so brightly when she spoke of him. Loki had never been more jealous than in that very moment. Because one thing he knew for certain: no-one ever smiled like that when talking about _him_.

Some time later she did call. And write. And visit. But Loki had already managed to shake off the delusions that it was anything more than a job. It was very freeing and very easy to snap back and be rude afterwards. 

Maybe he really ought to apologize for that. Maybe.

He was aware that Frigga stood silent and patient behind him. Was that what she was waiting for? Loki, apologizing? Admitting he was wrong? Saying that they had given him a chance, and he wasted it? That the mess he found himself in was entirely of his own making?

All of that was true, of course. But he couldn't say it out loud.

"I'm sorry," he said in the end, surprisingly calm. "For making you believe you could ever help me."

"Loki—"

"No, please. You had no obligations towards me, I know that. No ties, no responsibilities, nothing. But you—you made me feel like I was important to you. And then you just left."

"I never meant to hurt you, Loki," she said. "But I didn't understand you. You hid everything so well—"

Oh, so it was his own fault. Obviously.

She was putting a hand on his shoulder, urging him to turn around. He allowed this, because the cold disdainful smile was something he had perfected long ago. And it was worth seeing her expression fall when she saw it.

"This is my apology to make, not yours," she said, reaching out to brush hair from his face. "You were a child. That place must have been very hard on you—"

Loki laughed out loud.

"That place? Really? I was only there because I _wanted_ to be there."

Frigga's hands stilled, heavy on warm on his cheek. She stared at him, wide-eyed and uncomprehending. 

"You didn't know that?" Loki said coolly. "I was glad to be anywhere that wasn't my home. Away from my dear _father_ ," he spat out the word. When she still didn't seem to understand, Loki gritted his teeth. "He was beating me. Did you honestly not know?"

"No," she said, very very quietly. "No—I didn't—"

He wondered if she was lying. It could be that she was scared of what he might do otherwise. And that—he remembered that well. Oh so very well. He remembered years of stepping on egg-shells, of carefully choosing his words, not knowing what would set Laufey off. Never sure, never safe.

This guilt was a visceral thing. But no, it was different. He was different, wasn't he? He had to be. He couldn't bear it otherwise.

The nausea was very real, and his mouth was thick with saliva. She didn't care, thank God. Loki meant nothing to her. She wouldn't be hurt by that, because _she didn't care_.

"I didn't know," Frigga said. "I'm so sorry—"

Oh, God.

"Don't apologize to me," Loki said. He wanted to snap. He wanted to scream – because he remembered that, too. He remembered—not knowing what it was he did wrong, but apologizing nonetheless, because _his Dad was mad at him, and Loki didn't know why. He said he was sorry. He kept saying he was sorry. Whatever it was he did wrong, he was sorry, he would fix it, if only Dad would stop being mad—_

Laufey had looked at him then, in quiet horror – and he disappeared for days. _Loki made him leave. Loki made him run. Dad couldn't stand to look at Loki anymore, so he left._

Well. At least according to Byleistr. Even Helblindi was mad at him – he was the oldest, after all. With Laufey gone, he also had to be the most responsible. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Frigga asked.

"What for?" Loki said, trying to keep himself from throwing up. "I've told someone, once. My school counsellor. But, you see—I had a bit of a reputation. For lying, for seeking attention. Not entirely undeserved, of course," he shrugged. "And after my brothers denied it, they had no reason to believe me."

That was all Helblindi. The two of them didn't have it much better, except that they were bigger and stronger and learned to hit back. But they were _family_. Family sticks out for each other, doesn't it?

Frigga was caressing his cheek, her hand shaking slightly. Her eyes were wide-open, like she was about to cry – and what for? Loki fought off his emotions until he found that blasted smile, and felt it stretch his lips. 

"Does it matter?" he said. "He's in jail now."

"You—did you set him up?"

"Of course I did," he said lightly. "My father might have been an abusive, authoritarian asshole, but he wasn't a _criminal_. No no, that's all me."

"Loki," Frigga said, pulling him down into a hug. 

He let her, because he supposed it would make her feel better – and besides, his eyes prickled, and he couldn't swallow past the tightness in his throat. She was warm and small and fragile, even more so than he realized; and yet her embrace was tight and strong, speaking of love and safety and comfort. What a wonderful parody of motherly affection it was. 

He couldn't stand it any longer.

"Merry Christmas, Frigga," he said, pulling back to offer her a hateful little smile. And then he left.

***

"I have a gift for you," he told Thor later, after he managed to locate him in the crowd.

It was a smallish red box, neatly wrapped. Loki handed it over, innocence written all over his features as Thor unpacked it in front of his friends.

Then Thor's bright smile faded. He reached into the box, and glared at Loki, taking out the silver handcuffs.

"Very funny," he said, while Fandral and Sif sniggered behind him. Volstagg looked on, exasperated; Hogun's non-expression was, as always, unreadable.

"What?" Loki asked cheerfully. "At least one of us could use some practice—"

"I'm not putting them on you," Thor said, scowling. Sif elbowed Fandral and whispered something in his ear. 

"Wouldn't dream of asking," Loki said. 

Thor put back the handcuffs and closed the box. 

"I also have a present for you," he said, grabbing Loki at the elbow and dragging him upstairs.

He wasn't entirely sure what to expect. It was around midnight, and the party was still going strong. Thor wasn't going to choke him with so many guests in the house, was he?

Thor pushed him into a spare room – just how big was this place? – and flicked on the lights. It was fairly nondescript, save for the object occupying its centre.

"What the hell is that?" Loki said.

"Mother said you played," Thor side-eyed him. "And before you ask, no, I didn't buy it. It belongs to a family friend. She broke a finger and agreed to let us borrow it for a day."

Against his better judgement, Loki approached the instrument, transfixed. He wondered, idly, what it was that mysterious "friend" owed the family that she had agreed to part with such a work of art.

His fingers slid across the strings. No, this wasn't the thing he used to play in the music room. This was a proper harp, and more beautiful than any he had ever seen. His touch elicited a rich, vibrant sound that shook him to his core.

He caressed it.

"Do you people take pleasure in this?" he asked softly.

"In what?" Thor said, no doubt noticing that something was off in Loki's voice.

"Reminding me of all that I can't have," Loki said.

Thor shifted position behind him, folding his arms over his chest.

"This wasn't my intention," he said. "I just thought you might appreciate it."

Loki swallowed. He had very little control over the movement of his fingers – they slid down the string, plucking a simple melody – _Jingle Bells_ , how appropriate. But they were clumsy and stiff with disuse. He felt like a child again, trying to copy a smooth, elegant motion – and failing. Always failing. The first time, the second, the hundredth. _Practice_ , he had been told. Effortless beauty comes from _practice_ and _time_ and _patience_.

Well, he had never been patient. But he enjoyed sneaking into the music room – picking the lock was way too easy – to play when there was no-one else around to distract him with their own awkward attempts or their annoying laughter. The teacher was always pleasantly surprised with Loki's progress.

He got quite good, eventually. But now all that was left were memories and an odd pang of longing.

But still.

"I do appreciate it," he said stiffly. Thor meant well. Thor _always_ meant well. Thor's well-meaning was a bright light that burned everyone it shone upon.

"You can stay here, if you want," Thor said. 

Loki nodded, already sitting himself down and leaning the body of the instrument against his shoulder. Better to stay then return downstairs – he saw Frigga briefly, and the sad look she gave him made him want to break something expensive.

Thor must have left the room at some point, and Loki was grateful for it. His first attempts were awful – snatches of melodies he had memorised, perfectly clear in his head but impossible to translate to the movement of his fingers. But he had time.

It was getting easier. The strings danced under his touch, playing tunes he knew well, some he had forgotten entirely, and some he couldn't even recognize. It wasn't perfect in any sense of the word – but he was alone, with the most beautiful harp he had seen in years. Perfection didn't seem to matter.

He barely turned when, some time later, he heard someone enter the room. Thor, probably. Loki allowed himself a small smile and got back to playing, letting the melody pick up speed, swift and light, before it slowed down to its natural halt.

The sudden silence was deafening.

Even worse, it was 2 a.m. Loki had, most certainly, overstayed his welcome.

He sneaked a glance at Thor, who was watching him with an odd expression on his face.

"What?" Loki said.

"Nothing," Thor said thoughtfully. "So this is how you look when—"

"When what?" Loki said, perhaps needlessly aggressive.

"When you're happy." Thor beamed at him.

Loki stared, incredulous. The look on Thor's face – the idiocy of that statement – it made him laugh out loud in surprise. 

"Are you drunk?" he said. "Thor, really."

"Hmph."

Only now did Loki realize Thor was hiding something behind his back. And also that he was approaching Loki in quick, decisive steps.

"If that's mistletoe I'm going to stab you with it," Loki said, getting up. Without the weight of the harp on his shoulder he felt oddly light on his feet.

"Of course you are," Thor said indulgently.

He dangled the blasted thing above Loki's head. It even had a cute little red bow around it; Loki thought of murder.

"I swear—" he began; the press of Thor's lips cut him off. No more than a quick peck.

"This is the worst—" this time Thor took advantage of his half-open mouth and kissed him properly. Loki hooked his arms around Thor's neck to keep him there.

"I thought we were _friends_ ," he said sweetly, nipping at Thor's lower lip.

"I am being friendly," Thor said, pulling him closer.

"Ah, yes," Loki nodded, leaning back his head to allow Thor easier access to his neck. "What a beautiful friendship this is going to be."

"Hmm," Thor hummed, pressing kisses to Loki's throat.

They parted after sharing a last, long kiss that left Loki feeling a little breathless and very, very stupid. But that was the spirit of the evening, he told himself. Teasing at things out of reach. 

He tried to stop himself for blurting out the next words – but he had exhausted his options. There was no other way.

"Can I move in with you?" he said.

Thor startled, blinking at him. "That's—sudden."

"I can't afford to live by myself much longer," Loki said, sobering up. "And my list of friends isn't very long. For a couple of days, at most – I need to find a job and a cheaper flat. And I will pay half of your rent…"

When Thor told him the amount, it was Loki's turn to blink at him.

"Wow, really? Okay, then I will pay _part_ of your rent."

Thor was smiling at him, with strange fondness. At least he stopped dangling the mistletoe over their heads.

"You can," he said.

"This is a horrible idea," Loki said, just to dispel any doubts. "But I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice."

"I know you wouldn't," Thor said, squeezing the back of Loki's neck.

"So you're okay with this?"

"I am," Thor smiled. His hand was still – casually, possessively – cupping Loki's nape. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Ah. What indeed?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor is pathologically stubborn and Loki is just pathological.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Er. It's been a month. Hello if you're still here and thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments and just read this thing in general! :D
> 
> Okay, and can I just say I GOT FANART and I'm so stupidly excited about that! Many, many thanks to the talented, lovely and wonderful [alwaysherother](http://alwaysherother.tumblr.com/) who drew [Loki playing a harp](http://alwaysherother.tumblr.com/image/108491174730) and to [Alby_Mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Alby_Mangroves/pseuds/Alby_Mangroves) who drew Loki [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3257096) and [on tumblr](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/post/109569021334/for-karuvapatta-who-silly-her-lol-happened-to). You guys are amazing and you really made my day ♥
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I know nothing. Harps do not appear in this chapter, and it's a damn shame. Still, if you're interested [this is the piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnYCW8eWqQo&feature=youtu.be) I've been listening to and had in mind the last time :)

He was in a room.

So. A room. And a rather dull one at that. His childhood bedroom? It looked close enough, even if some details were off – the moment he tried to focus on something, it slipped his mind. This was, of course, because he was dreaming.

Behind him was the bunk bed, and both the beds were pristinely made. In front of him – the little desk, wedged between a bookcase and a wardrobe. Over the desk was a pinboard where they used to hang their study plans and newspapers cut-outs. There was a picture of Byleistr with his football team. A picture of Loki in a Nativity Play – he was dressed up as an angel and all three of them thought it was hilarious.

The longer he looked, the less familiar it seemed. But—the carpet. He remembered the dark carpet, rough and unpleasant. And the pattern of stains, the one near the bed when Byleistr knocked over his hot cocoa, or the one where Loki was painting something on the floor because the desk was taken—

The cracks began in the corners of the room. There was no sound. The floor fragmented and—and was tumbling down, dropping in large chunks, disappearing—below his feet, the floor cracked—

Loki couldn't move. He watched as the carpet shattered underneath him. And then he lost his balance and was falling.

Falling. Into the silence and the darkness. Above him was the light of the bedroom. He reached out but his hands closed over nothing.

The light was growing smaller by the second. Smaller and farther and—he was dreaming. Loki knew he was dreaming. And now he had to wake up—he had to—

He waved his arms, kicked his legs, but it was useless. He was falling and there was nothing below, nothing around him, only the faint glow above, so far above. It was a dream and he had to wake up, _he had to_ , he would wake up and it would all be fine, he knew he was dreaming, and falling, and dreaming, but if he could just _wake up_ —

\--he woke up with a violent jerk of his legs.

His hand scrambled under the pillow—and there it was. He squeezed the knife and tried to focus on his breathing. The world was crystallizing around him – unfamiliar room and curtains. Definitely not his bed. Not even a bed – Loki winced – a couch. And a sound, so different to the silence pressing against his ears mere seconds ago—

"What the hell are you doing?" he said, as soon as he identified the source of the sound.

A truly glorious sight awaited him: Thor was on the training mat by the window, doing push-ups. Loki felt his ire seep out with every flex of Thor's powerful arms.

"Exercising," Thor said, his breathing surprisingly steady. He shifted, supporting himself on one hand, the other folded behind his back, and then carried on. "Sorry about waking you."

"Don't be," Loki said.

Something in his voice must have given him away. Thor paused and raised his eyebrows at Loki.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, amused.

"Immensely," Loki said.

Thor grinned and switched mid-air to his other hand.

Well. This boded wonderfully well for their platonic friendship.

Loki's head thudded against the pillow. Thor's couch was surprisingly comfortable, truth, but it had nothing on a proper bed. And now that he was awake he became aware of the annoying way the sheets creased and bundled up beneath him. And of the fact that he was too tall to fit properly. Or that the damned furniture was narrow and if he rolled slightly to the side he would fall off.

Not to mention Thor's loud breathing, punctuated with the occasional grunt.

It was still dark outside. Loki scrambled for his phone – seven a.m. Good lord, he had been asleep for four hours. No, he could not be reasonably expected to get up and _function_ , could he?

Meanwhile, Thor had switched to doing crunches. He had a timer set and its little pings were really grating on Loki's nerves.

"So what are you doing afterwards?" he asked. Thor was wearing shorts and – sadly – a shirt. Still it was fun to watch his flexing abs. "A relaxing trip to the gym?"

"No, gym is Tuesdays and Thursdays," Thor said. "MMA on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

Loki groaned. "And weekends?"

"I like to mix it up," Thor said.

"Fantastic," Loki said.

Oh no. He could see rivulets of sweat running across Thor's skin—damn. How _was_ he expected to sleep?

"Really sorry about that," Thor was saying. "There's not enough space in my room."

"Ngh," Loki said. He stood up, wrapping the blanket around him to ward off the cold. His body was doing its own thinking but his brain _needed_ sleep, and this way he would not be getting any.

The blanket trailed behind him as he marched down the living space, followed by Thor's amused snorts. But Loki found what he was looking for – Thor's bedroom. Thor's _bed._ Wonderfully large bed, that indeed took most of the space. He had some very nice memories associated with that bed.

He could swear it was still radiating Thor's body heat and the pleasant, lingering smell of him. Loki fell face-first on the pillows and let them lull him into a dreamless sleep.

***

There were fun parts to sharing a flat with Thor.

Loki's apprehension stemmed mostly from the fact that it had been ages since he last felt comfortable enough to live with someone. He was, by nature, a private person. Most of his personal belongings were, well, _personal_. The thought of someone else touching them was abhorrent. And he liked his solitude and his silence.

…of course then it turned out Thor was quite annoyingly respectful about this. Sure he pushed and poked and prodded – but backed off the instant Loki told him to with any kind of sincerity. And worse, he seemed so damn _happy_ to have him there; he positively _lit up_ when Loki did something stupid like fix him tea or make dinner or ask about his day. That level of uncomplicated joy was something Loki was definitely not used to.

And Loki—didn't mind. That was the worst part: how very anticlimactically _mundane_ it turned out to be. His personal space had been rapidly reduced to a couch and a cupboard and a toothbrush on somebody else's sink – and he was okay with it.

Maybe it was the fact that Thor went out a lot. Or that he seemingly didn't mind spending an entire evening doing his thing, while Loki did his own thing, and the only words exchanged were passive-aggressive implications that it was the other's turn to fetch beer. Or maybe Loki was so pathetically starved for _some_ part of his life to remain straightforward that he bottled down all his frustrations. Whatever reason, their current situation was almost—nice.

Except it wouldn't last. He told it to himself very firmly, browsing housing offers on the internet. Something small and cheap – and a job. How did one go about looking for a legal job? After a few tries he figured out how to successfully lie in his CV and then lie through the interview; still it seemed the only thing he would be able to do without any substantial education was call centre or customer service. And that was an option that could only end in murder.

He was startled out of his thoughts when the door opened and Thor walked in.

…and, yeah. That was the other part.

Apparently, Thor had some exhibitionistic tendencies. Not that Loki blamed him. No, anyone who spent so much sculpting their muscles into this gleaming perfection had every right to flaunt them in other people's faces. But Thor had just taken a shower, and he waltzed in towelling his hair, with another towel wrapped loosely around his hips—

And. Loki's train of thoughts rapidly crashed. Thor's skin was still damp, and the towel looked _just about to_ slip off. He was humming something unmelodious and winked at Loki.

"How is it going?"

"Fine," Loki said stupidly.

Thor sat himself down at the end of the couch and picked up one of Loki's drafts.

"'I'm a conscientious person and a keen worker, adherent to the rules but able to creatively approach any potential problem'?" he read, eyebrows climbing higher and higher. "'I am enthusiastic about the opportunity to join this company, as being part of a strong, resourceful team allows me to employ my skills to the fullest'? _'I enjoy working with others'_?"

"Hmm, what?" Loki said. Distracted, because Thor's pectoral muscles commanded most of his attention. Damn, even his _nipples_ seemed alluring. "It's a cover letter. Nobody reads them anyway."

But, no. They were _friends._ Thor had made it clear he wanted them to be just that. Sure Loki remembered kissing him on Christmas Eve but Thor was hopelessly drunk and possibly high on sugar and—and it probably didn't count.

His messenger chimed and all the good humour left him. It was damned Malekith – he opted to ignore him for a while. Let the bastard stew. Loki could not spare a thought for him when Thor was so close to him. So open and trusting. So blissfully unaware—

"I made up my mind, by the way," Thor said. He laid down the letter and smoothed it, obviously nervous. However, nervousness suited Thor about as well as contentment suited Loki; when he raised his eyes he was, once again, calm and determined. "I'm joining the police."

"What?" Loki said, momentarily startled.

"It seemed like the best choice," Thor said.

"But weren't you discharged from the army for being reckless and arrogant?"

The look Thor shot him was thunderous. It would be more threatening if Loki could stop paying attention to the line of hair, beginning at his navel and trailing down—

"Thank you for reminding me," Thor said. "And yes. So I will simply try not to be that in the future."

"Oh?" Loki looked up at him, amused. "So it's that easy?"

"I didn’t say it was going to be easy, I just said I'm going to do it."

_How precious._

Loki groaned. It was way too early for Thor's optimism. Come to think of that, it was always too early for Thor's optimism.

With sheer force of will, Loki managed to bite back a snarky remark. Thor was being nice. And friendly. The _least_ Loki could do was be civil and supportive about this—frankly astonishingly stupid decision. What was Thor _thinking_? Was he even thinking at all? His father was already a very unpopular figure with certain crowds. And, knowing Thor, he wouldn't be content with a desk job. No, he would rush right in, placing himself on the front lines. Right before the very people who already hate him.

"What did your parents say?" Loki asked. Odin wouldn't be stupid enough to let him do that, would he?

"They don't know yet," Thor said. "You're the first person I've told."

Well. Loki cleared his throat. "You know me," he said. "I have deep faith in law enforcement. And if you join, people will stand in line to get arrested."

Thor looked part exasperated, part pleased with himself. And there was an oddly light feeling in Loki's stomach. Yes, let Odin discourage Thor from his foolishness. And just this once, let Loki pretend to be supportive and optimistic.

***

There was a car waiting.

Loki's steps faltered. Inwardly he began cursing his own stupidity. He was becoming reckless; he should have checked before turning a corner. Probably should not have ignored his phone for so long, because Odin was bound to be pissed off by now.

He could still run. The weather might not match the season but it was winter and therefore dark outside – perhaps he hadn't been noticed—

The door opened and a figure stepped out. The man looked directly at Loki. He made no motion to beckon or to threaten, and was simply watching him, expectant.

Loki pressed his lips together in a humourless smile. No, Odin wasn't just pissed off – he was livid. If he was sending _Heimdall_ , of all people, just to collect Loki—

Damn. He should have picked up his phone.

Slowly, on increasingly uncooperative legs, he made his way down the street. Heimdall's face was perfectly impassive, his oddly bright eyes fixed on Loki.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Loki asked cheerfully when they came face-to-face.

"Mr Borson would like a word," Heimdall said.

A quick survey of his options – no, he was in no position to refuse. Best to smooth things over with Odin before the next hearing, lest the old man decides to roll out the big guns he claims to have.

"I would be delighted," Loki said and got into the passenger seat.

It was a black Mercedes, classy but in a subdued way. The ride was smooth and very quiet. Heimdall said nothing and Loki got the impression that the man did not like him much. No surprise there – any evidence in Odin's possession would probably originate right here, with this man. The Watcher, they called him. He occupied some shady, unspecified position, as an investigator or a spy.

They said he could see everything - that, Loki was inclined to believe. But he also couldn't _look_ everywhere. So long as Loki kept his head down, he should be relatively okay.

Heimdall drove him all the way to the office and walked him to the door like a bloody prison ward. The skin on the back of Loki's neck prickled – with anger or humiliation or fear, he neither knew nor cared. He was a schoolboy again, about to be berated for some stupid prank. And whenever he went too far _they_ went the extra mile, and called Laufey, and—and it was better that way. It was better when Laufey had _reasons_. It was—

He pushed the memories out of his head and tried to focus.

Odin was standing by the window, his back a straight, tense line. He really was—an old man. An aged man, still sharp, still effective, but burdened with years of battling in the courtroom. He had an impressive track record, yes. He had put more dangerous men behind bars than the rest of his colleagues combined. But surely he was tired by now. Loki had no reason to fear him.

He reconsidered that statement when Odin turned around, his face a mask of fury.

"Good evening," Loki said politely. "I appreciate—"

"Sit," Odin said coldly.

Loki gave him an incredulous little smile. "I'd rather not. It's not that I do not enjoy your hospitality—"

"I asked something of you, last time we spoke," Odin cut in. "Do you remember that?"

"Hmm," Loki said. "Not really, no."

His voice sounded weak to his own ears. Any ounce of sarcasm he tried to squeeze out rang frail and pathetic. Still he plundered on, because this was something he _knew_. He had no reason to fear Odin; Odin had no reason to be this angry with him. Loki had done nothing wrong. "I don't remember you _asking_."

He held onto that belief, onto his own innocence, while Odin stared him down. Sure he had lied and stolen and committed some minor offences. Sure. But he needed the money. And others had done worse, much worse. They _kept on_ doing worse, while Odin wasted his time on Loki. No, this wasn't about justice or righteousness or upholding the law: it was about vengeance. Loki had gotten too close, tainted both Thor and Frigga with his dirty little hands. And now Odin was out for blood.

"My wife keeps asking me to pull you out of this mess," Odin said. "My son invites you to live with him. Tell me, Loki, what lies did you tell them? What sad little story did you spin?"

Loki swallowed, his throat parched dry. "None," he said. "Why should I? Their sympathy wasn't that difficult to win."

"No, I don't imagine it was," Odin said. "So is this your plan, then? Abusing their kindness?"

Of course it was. And it was brilliant. He didn't even need to lie, not even once. They thought they knew him because he let them close enough to see his pain. And it blinded them, and they didn't pay attention to what he truly was—

"Obviously," Loki said. "Is there a point to this?" His mind was a mess, more so than usual. He needed fresh air. He needed to throw up. He needed Odin to _stop giving him that look_.

"The point, _boy_ , is that my patience is wearing thin," Odin said. "You have played your silly games long enough."

That he had. They both had, for nearly three months. The hearings, endless questions, going over and over the same boring details – Odin wasn't the only one getting tired. No, Loki was afraid that any day now he would snap, scream in their faces that yes, he _was_ guilty, he will happily go to jail if they would just fucking shut up.

He could do that. He could end this. One way or another – he was tired and wanted it to end. Except—he would be relocated to some dingy little cell, and they would watch him twenty four hours a day. He would have no privacy and no air to breathe. He might even end up in the same place as Laufey. He would be trapped, and then he would snarl and bite and provoke everyone around him out of sheer frustration, and everyone would witness his humiliation and no-one would _care_ , and—and he wouldn't see Thor again.

"If you're so tired of me, why am I even here?" Loki said. "I can't help you with your little crusade. And if you're so displeased with my current living arrangement, go discuss this with your son."

"Thor refused to listen to me," Odin said. "And Frigga insists I give you a chance."

Oh, lovely. He might still be able to disappoint her after all. Will she never learn?

"Look, tell her," Loki began, but words failed him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and pressed down, digging knuckles into the skin of his forehead to chase away the impending headache. And he couldn't even muster the energy to care that Odin witnessed his obvious discomfort. "Fuck. No. It's not going to work."

He regretted the words as soon as they tumbled from his lips. No. He was losing. _No_. He had to take it back, take it all back—

"I don't mean them harm," he babbled, naked under Odin's scrutiny. No. He was breaking down, and it was ridiculous, he was—better than this. "Thor and I are just friends."

Fuck. He wanted them to be more. Of course he did. That was the way his brain operated: as soon as it was given a taste of something it would crave _more_. And Thor had plenty of friends but Loki had only him and it wasn't fair—

He would drag Thor further. He would pull him all the way down, spin a web of pretty lies neither of them could escape from. And once they both hit the bottom Loki wouldn't have to feel like he didn't belong—

He might even regret this. Who knows, his guilt might even be real. And he would apologize, often and at great lengths, over and over and over again.

Again. And again.

"Loki."

"What?" Loki snapped. His lungs burned and his innards twisted like a bucket of live eels. Throwing up on Odin's floor was the last thing he needed; of course it was bound to happen.

"My offer still stands," Odin said. "Tell me what you know."

He could taste bile at the back of his tongue. The last dregs of his dignity, self-preservation, forward planning – they slithered down the drain. "Not enough," he forced out. "I don't know enough."

"Let me be the judge of that," Odin said.

"Fuck you," Loki told him, laughing. "Go and bestow your fucking judgement on somebody else. Go and—leave me alone."

"Don't you dare—"

He slammed the door behind him and ran away.

***

Thank heavens Thor wasn't home. Loki recalled something about Volstagg's dinner party – Thor had said those usually ran late into the night. He had also joked that he would probably eat enough to last him the entire week so Loki will be able to order all the sushi he could possibly want.

He took careful, measured steps into the living room. The apartment was as nice as ever. His sheets and blankets were folded at the end of the couch. His laptop was on the coffee table, next to Thor's iPad. Kitchen was on his left, with the dining table and a brick feature wall separating the space. Two cups were still on the kitchen island; a leftover from their breakfast.

Fuck. It's been barely two weeks and he already knew that Thor liked plenty of milk in his coffee, that he preferred scrambled eggs to sunny-side-up, that he refused to partake in dinner that had no meat in it, that he was thinking of adopting a cat – he knew all that. He shouldn't. This would complicate matters.

He had plenty of time to reconsider storming out of places as an effective life strategy. He could hardly ask Heimdall to drive him back after his little outburst, and the underground was crowded to the point of pain. Some of the shame and disgust bled out of him on the way back. Now he was ready to nurse some grudges.

Because fuck them. Fuck it all. He had handed over all his weaknesses on a silver platter. Odin no more had any delusions about Loki's potential usefulness. He would finally find out if the old man had been bluffing all along.

Loki allowed himself an ugly little smile and a glass of Chianti as he contemplated his options. Malekith was willing to meet with him, so there was that. He might even be able to get someone higher up in the ranks, someone closer to Thanos and—and what?

Money was ostensibly what he was after. Pride demanded he _would_ pay part of Thor's rent. Plus large chunks of it should be fed into one of his spare accounts, in case he survived prison and wanted to set up some sort of life afterwards—

Oh, fuck that. Long-term plans had never been his forte. There were too many variables. Too many things could go wrong.

Thor's computer was in his bedroom. Loki pulled on a pair of gloves out of habit and booted it up, sipping wine while the machine whirled to life. It was password-protected, sure, but Thor wasn't particularly careful while typing it in, even when Loki was hanging practically over his shoulder, with a cup of tea and a long tirade about how Thor could _please_ learn to put away his equipment because that was the third time this week Loki had snubbed his toe on a stray dumb-bell. Thor snorted and told him to pay more attention to where he was going, his fingers jamming on the keys.

This wasn't unethical, Loki told himself. Well. At least no more than messing with Laufey, who always kept a very neat Excel sheets on his finances and which Loki tweaked ever-so-slightly to get away with stealing his money.

_Abusing his kindness_. Well, obviously. That was what he did. That was what everybody always did. And Loki needed only a good search engine and a couple of keywords—

His own name turned up very little. The most recent was Thor asking Volstagg if he could bring Loki over, to which Volstagg said yes but which Loki later declined. He didn't know how much Thor's friends knew about him and didn't care to find out.

Unsurprisingly, his name came up most often in Thor's e-mails with Frigga. Loki skimmed them briefly, frowning. The two of them were looking for therapists and he—didn't know how to feel about that. Indignant, maybe. His mental health was his own fucking business, and it wasn't like paying strangers to listen to his whining would miraculously make him a better person. But, hell, at least they gave a damn.

Odin – not much. He had been in the business for too long to send incriminating e-mails. He did ask to meet with Thor three days ago, which would explain Thor's foul mood and sudden inexplicable need to take Loki jogging.

Browser history – not much. Thor did a lot of reading on the College of Policing, spoke to some people, exchanged messages with his army friends. He googled Loki's name several times but the results weren't terribly interesting. There was some porn, and Loki spent an entertaining couple of minutes finding out that Thor actually _was_ into bondage.

Something else caught his eye. Thor was on Waterstones, looking up Stanislaw Lem and Clive Barker. They spoke about it a couple of days ago, over beer and pizza. Loki spent an extended while grumbling about literature nowadays, how it lacked ambition and direction, how YA was killing more and more genres. Thor laughed at his "hipster-ish sense of entitlement", as he had so kindly put it. Loki couldn't even remember what kind of point he was trying to make when he brought up these authors. If there even was a point. And for the life of him he couldn't understand why Thor would still think about one stupid conversation—

The thought settled uncomfortably in the back of his mind, like an itch that wouldn't go away. Well. Apparently Loki wasn't the only one paying attention. Thor _cared._ Good lord. Thor actually cared about Loki's opinions. And here Loki was, invading his privacy like it meant nothing—

He wasn't prepared for the wave of nausea. He hoped that he could put all those emotions behind him after storming out of Odin's office – shame, disgust, fear. _Then_ he hoped he could melt them into anger and hammer it into some kind of purpose; but it was useless, all of it.

He removed all the traces of his presence and turned off the computer. Then he poured himself another glass of wine and dropped onto the couch, teeth grinding so tightly it made his jaw ache.

***

"You realize we could just as well stay at home?" Loki said.

"You will have fun," Thor told him, somewhere between a promise and a threat.

Loki wouldn't.

It was Saturday night and Thor's friends decided to go clubbing. Once again, Loki found himself trailing behind Thor like a sad pathetic basset hound, dolled up in his skinniest jeans, darkest kohl and most miserable expression. He never much enjoyed dancing – if the arrhythmic bobbing of the assembled crowd could even be called that. 

He ordered a drink, and then ordered another drink. Volstagg mostly kept him company and Loki was forced to admit that the man wasn't half as stupid as he expected him to be. Hogun was also there and Loki tried fruitlessly to rile him up into exhibiting _some_ kind of human emotion. There was clearly a comfortable weight of years between the two, between all of them. Thor had just said that they went a long way back, without getting into details. In any case, they made an effort to include Loki in their conversation, most likely out of sympathy for Thor.

Volstagg was the first to leave. Apparently his wife only gave him a couple of hours' vacation and now he had to get back to his kids. Hogun followed soon thereafter; Fandral disappeared with a pretty brunette. Sif and Thor were still somewhere on the dancefloor.

Huh, Loki thought, after bidding goodbye to Volstagg. Kids. Families. Careers. This was the kind of things people his age engaged in. And here he was, with a criminal case and no direction in life—

Loki snorted. Ah, yes. Drinking sadly at the bar. What a wonderful way to finish an unpleasant evening.

"Oh, hey," someone said behind him, sliding into a free seat. "It's you!"

"Indubitably," Loki said.

Where had he—oh. It was the guy from that one bar, about a week before Christmas. The muscled blond Thor-lookalike Loki blew in the bathroom.

Upon closer inspection, the likeness was disappointing. His face was built differently, and his skin was paler and dotted with freckles. Not bad looking: just not good enough.

"You left," the man said awkwardly. "I never got your name."

Loki was exhilarated to watch him squirm under his cold, dispassionate stare. His head was already buzzing with drink but this: this was what made the game worth playing. Getting beneath somebody's skin. Having them watch _you_ , as if there was nothing else worth looking at. Making them shiver, tremble, question everything – he missed that.

Damn Thor and his damned parents for reducing Loki to his most base weaknesses. All the things he suddenly wanted, all the kindness they had offered that would not last – it mattered less to him than yesterday's snow.

"I never got yours," Loki said. "It didn't seem to matter."

The man's face, his disappointment – everything transparent. Loki offered him a lazy smile.

He dabbed the straw in his drink before taking a sip. He wasn't above seductively sucking a straw if it got to make someone shift in their seat. Subtlety was all nice and well, but the crowds, noise and flashing lights called for a different tactic.

The man's eyes were glued to Loki's lips.

"Do you want--?" he said.

Loki leaned over, to whisper in his ear – mostly so that he could be heard over the noise, partly to see him shiver. "Get me a cigarette and I'll think about it."

Time to indulge in his worst habits before he ended up in jail.

"Loki?"

Or not.

One could learn a lot while watching Thor get angry. His smile, so bright and friendly under normal circumstances, faded; the storm began somewhere behind his eyes and proceeded outwards, tensing every muscle in his body. Since it was Thor, there was a lot of muscle to tense.

There was a different kind of excitement running through Loki's veins now. His primal urges called for retreat. Approach him like you would a predator, his common sense offered: make yourself as small as possible. Try to look harmless.

The man next to him, swaying into Loki's personal space a second before, was now hurriedly backing off.

"What the hell are you doing?" Thor said, quiet and yet distinct enough to be audible.

There was some tension around them – people made way for Thor, perhaps anticipating a fight. Perhaps hoping for it.

"Having fun," Loki said, sipping his drink. "Wasn't that the point?"

"Is that your boyfriend?" the man said awkwardly.

Thor spared him a cold look.

"No," Loki said sweetly. "We're just friends."

Behind them, the bartender was clearing the bar of glasses, bottles and other fragile objects. The other patrons took their cue and drew back.

Loki didn't know what devil possessed him right then. But, oh – he missed that. Missed the intensity of Thor's emotions. His jealousy was like a drug, _more_ potent than drugs, and it left a pleasant tingle in his stomach.

This was so much better than sympathy or pity. A wounded dog could elicit those – but for Thor, who had so much, who _was_ so much, jealousy was a rare thing, and therefore precious.

"Yeah, right," someone muttered, but Loki paid them no mind. There were only Thor's eyes, and the promise of violence he wore so well.

"Come on," Thor said. He put a proprietary hand on the back of Loki's neck and dragged him outside. To the disappointment of the onlookers, for sure: they would have to go and search for a different kind of entertainment.

Loki was foolish, but not _that_ foolish, and went obediently. Thor's hand was warm, heavy and strong; he smelled of sweat and drink, the scent still fresh enough to be pleasant.

"Who was that?" Thor said once they found some relative privacy. They had both grabbed their coats before leaving but didn't bother to put them on. The air was not cold enough to make Loki want to dislodge Thor's hand from its resting point.

"A casual acquaintance," Loki said.

"Seemed more than that," Thor said.

Loki smiled. "I may have sucked his cock about a month ago," he said.

"You _what_?"

"Sorry, is there a problem here?" Loki said innocently. "Last time I checked we weren't in a committed relationship."

Oh, it was worth every second. Both of them had kissed sobriety goodbye at some point in the evening. Thor's emotions were running unchecked. He had so much self-control normally, tried to appear harmless when he was anything but – was it a problem for him, Loki wondered. Was there a story there he had not yet heard, about Thor's temper getting the better of him?

"You bastard," Thor hissed, crowding Loki against the wall. "I could barely sleep without remembering how you looked beneath me – and here you were, fucking strangers?"

Oh. Wow. He had not expected that. That was—informative.

"Maybe," Loki said, trembling. He prayed Thor would hit him. Not because he enjoyed pain, but because it would be cathartic. And he deserved it. Oh, how he deserved it—

But another part of his mind, darker and more vindictive, whispered: yes. Let's do that. We have shouldered guilt for too long. Let Thor carry it for a while—

"Maybe I have," he said, running his tongue across dried lips. "What's it to you? I thought you wanted to be _friends_."

"You're enjoying this," Thor said. The palm of his hand was next to Loki's head. All tendons stood out as his nails scratched the brick; they were no doubt both of them imagining the same hand wrapping around Loki's throat.

"I am," Loki said.

"You enjoy playing with me?"

"I do."

The point was easy enough to prove. He put his hand on Thor's chest, feeling the shift of muscles and the heat of them through Thor's sweaty shirt. They should put more clothes on, Loki thought idly, sliding his hand lower. They could both catch a cold that way—his fingers skimmed the waistband of Thor's jeans. What a terrible, terrible thing that would be—

"Come on, Thor," he said in his best sultry voice. "Why the sudden interest? I could have fucked my way through every club in town and that would still be none of your business—"

Ah! Yes, a tangible proof that Loki wasn't the only one getting off on this. After weeks of Thor strutting around shirtless, and all the uncomfortable boners that followed, this was sweet, sweet justice.

Thor's blue eyes narrowed but his face was flushing – from the drink, or the cold, or Loki's fondling, it was hard to tell. He grabbed Loki's hand by the wrists, grabbed both of them, and pinned them to the wall.

"So that's all I am to you, too?" he asked. "A casual acquaintance?"

"No, we're friends," Loki said, trying uselessly to wrench his hands out of Thor's grip. He was losing too many of his cards, _again_. "That's what you wanted us to be, isn't it?"

"That's not all I want us to be and you know it!" Thor said.

And—what?

"What the hell are you talking about?" Loki said, blinking.

"What are _you_ talking about?"

They stared at each other, rather stupidly. Loki rewound the conversation in his head, getting back to the bit—

"You're still thinking about that time we had sex?" he said.

"Of course I am, you're the one who lost all interest—"

"Well excuse me," Loki spat. " _You_ pulled the 'friend' card, didn't you? I assumed 'let's be friends' is code for 'I no longer find you attractive'."

Thor drew back, his eyes wide.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked. "No, you idiot, 'let's be friends' is code for 'I want to be your friend'! Why would it be anything else? I _kissed_ you!"

"It was Christmas," Loki said. "I thought you were trying to be nice."

"I don't kiss people like that to be _nice_!"

Oh. Hmm.

Loki swallowed. That—made sense, actually. Certainly explained—"Is that why you were walking around naked all the time?"

"Well, what did you _think_?"

"I thought you were showing off!"

"I thought you weren't attracted to me anymore," Thor said, a bit bashfully. "…not my best game, I admit."

Loki stared. His shoulders were shaking – and then he realized he was laughing.

Oh, good lord. Thor was still holding him trapped against a brick wall in the back alley, both of them shivering with cold, and Loki was laughing his head off, so hard it made his stomach ache.

Some residual anger kept Thor on edge for a couple of seconds more. Then, too, his face was splitting into a grin, and he released Loki, helping him up because Loki was still laughing too hard to move.

Well, Loki thought to himself. Rumours of his perceptiveness were certainly exaggerated.

"Come on," Thor said, throwing a coat across Loki's trembling shoulders. "We can talk about this at home."

"We are never talking about this again," Loki told him.

"As you wish."

***

The cab ride was short and awkward. After that, Loki fled to the bathroom.

He was sobering up. It was a chilling little thought. Reality was coming back into focus, and Loki decided he did not much care for this reality. A long hot shower made him feel slightly better but – Thor was still out there. And they would talk.

What _were_ they going to talk about? And _how_ did Thor miss Loki's blatant ogling? He was trying to pass it off as a joke most of the time, sure. And maybe—okay, maybe he was a bit too sarcastic in his compliments. But they were sincere. More or less. Insofar as he was capable of sincerity.

Thor was hot. He had to know he was hot. How could he think _anyone_ wasn't attracted to him?

Loki poured himself a glass of water while Thor was showering. Maybe it was about that one time – that time Loki insisted and then changed his mind halfway through. Maybe Thor was still mad about that. Maybe it was a blow to his self-esteem – yes, that would explain it.

Loki didn't remember much from that night. Thor had held him through most of it, his embrace so warm and comforting and sure. Loki had felt like a character in a Meg Ryan film, especially when Thor got up and tried to offer him breakfast. Loki _might_ have kicked him out then. _Might_ have been a bit too harsh about it.

He set his bedding in record time, hoping that if he buried himself under a layer of blankets Thor would take the hint and let him sleep. Discussing their _feelings_ was the last thing he needed right now.

He fucked up: that was the background noise of his life. And now he had managed to instil self-esteem issues in _Thor fucking Odinson_. Verily, his talent knew no bounds.

The water stopped running and in the sudden silence he could hear all the little noises – Thor's footsteps on the tiled floor, rustle of fabric as he towelled himself dry and when he pulled on his clothes—

Not even proper clothes, Loki thought miserably, catching a peak of Thor's silhouette as he emerged from the bathroom. Pyjama bottoms. His bare chest was clearly outlined against the light.

The bathroom light flickered shut. Thor took a few uncertain steps into the living room, careful not to bump into anything in the dark.

"Loki?" he said. "Are you asleep?"

Loki said nothing, trying to even out his breathing. He _might_ have been uncomfortably hard, but he'd be damned if—

"Come on, I know you're awake," Thor said. He managed to make his way to the couch and sat down on the armrest, next to Loki's legs. "You never fall asleep this quickly."

"Hngh," Loki said.

"Sorry? What was that?"

"That was: do you enjoy watching me sleep, you creep?"

"Well, what can I say? It's always pleasant to see you quiet and peaceful for a change," Thor said. Light, teasing.

He was right of course. It normally took hours of staring at the ceiling and rolling around until he managed to drop from sheer exhaustion. And then he would spend the whole day tired and miserable. He knew his mood swings were getting on Thor's nerves, even when he was trying to be nice about it. Recently he had turned to sleeping pills to even out his schedule.

It was, nevertheless, none of Thor's business. Loki kicked him to accentuate his displeasure.

Thor, being Thor, caught his foot easily and held it between his hands.

"We should talk," he said. His fingers were making soothing, circular motions around Loki's ankles. Then they slid lower, to the fleshy part, rubbing with more force. Loki's leg twitched but it was way too pleasant a sensation for him to feign annoyance.

"No, we really shouldn't," Loki said, his voice muffled by the pillow. His hand scrambled beneath it, tracing the edge of the knife. It was a habit that began during his days at the detention centre, after a certain night taught him it was always better to have a weapon at hand.

Thor stilled. He must have caught the movement.

"I'm not going to stab you," Loki said, waving empty hands above his head.

"I certainly hope you won't," Thor said. He had asked about it before, and was displeased with the lack of answer. But Loki was in no mood to argue so he wriggled his foot. Thor snorted and resumed rubbing it with sure fingers.

Oh, this was nice. Relaxing. Loki hummed his approval.

"Do I have to trade you sexual favours again to make you talk to me?" Thor said.

Loki knew the question was meant to be a joke; he knew that. Thor was never petty or mean. And yet—

The same helplessness was overtaking him now. He remembered the hammering of his own heart, and the sound of air leaving his lungs, the sudden pressure that had his chest in an iron grip. He remembered—

All his muscles tensed.

"Shit, Loki, wait," Thor was saying. "I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't," Loki said hollowly. He buried his face in the pillow, feeling the hot burn of shame spread over his cheeks. Fuck. No wonder Thor thought Loki didn't want him. No wonder—

It was nothing but wounded pride, Loki decided. Ah, that explained everything. Thor wasn't used to rejection. Certainly wasn't used to people bailing on him halfway through. He just needed to fuck Loki once again, to placate his own vanity and sense of self-worth. Then they would be done.

Fuck. Loki would even—he would like that. It was fun the first time. He certainly enjoyed it. But he didn't trust his own body not to fail him again.

Perhaps he owed Thor an explanation. But how did you phrase 'it's not you, it's me' without sounding like a complete asshole?

Thor was rubbing his feet in comforting circles.

"Can you just tell me one thing?" he asked quietly.

"Maybe," Loki said. "If you're asking if I think you're hot—"

"What are you afraid of?" Thor said.

Loki froze. "What kind of question is that?"

"It's the one I'd like you to answer."

Loki bit his lip. He was thankful Thor couldn't see his face, and he couldn't see Thor's. He was being way too transparent these days.

_What was he afraid of_ , what a preposterous fucking idea. As if that meant—"Everything," he said. Fuck. That wasn't what he meant to say at all. "Back then—hurting you, I think."

Thor seemed to ponder that for a few seconds of tense, uncomfortable silence. Loki shivered under his blanket.

"I'm not made of glass, Loki," Thor said gently.

Loki laughed at him, low and bitter. Thor didn't understand. Thor didn't have to understand.

_Don't provoke him,_ Helblindi told him once while washing a cut on Loki's cheek. _Jesus, Loki, fucking_ stop _already. You're making him mad on purpose—_

_And then he's angry at us,_ Byleistr hissed. _Even when it's all nice and well you just can't help fucking it up, can you?_

Loki smiled at his own memories. Yes, there were times when they pretended to be an actual family. They had nice Christmas dinners. Laufey went to the football games or the school plays, if his work permitted. At first, Loki loved it; as time wore on, he learned he would never hate him more than in those moments. He could take the violence, easily. And the kindness, he appreciated. But the inevitable slide of one into the other, he—he—

He was shaking. No, he wouldn't cry. He had no tears left to spare for that man. But he—he would do the same to Thor. That was how it worked, wasn't it? That _was_ what he was, manipulative and exploitative and downright fucking abusive, just like his dear old father, and it—wasn't—fucking—fair—

His teeth clenched, and he tried to hold back the sobs. Thor was bewildered, trying to reach out for Loki but clearly afraid of spooking him out further. He settled for an awkward pat at Loki's back, and the weight of his hand pressed Loki down into the pillow, suffocating him.

"Hey," Thor said. "Loki. It's okay. You're alright."

Fuck _that_.

Loki sat up and grabbed Thor's face in his hands. He didn't care how he looked, his face blotched red, with tears running down his cheeks and snot down his nose. Maybe it was too dark for Thor to see the ugly snarl of his lips.

"Shut up," he hissed. Thor's blue eyes were wide, his mouth parted open. Loki kissed him because the time for talking was fucking over.

He kissed violently, shoving Thor back and climbing atop him, coaxing his mouth open, biting his lower lip. He raked his nails down Thor's chest, drawing blood. Thor hissed in pain, but his hands tightened, pulling Loki _closer_.

Oh. How nice. Loki wasn't the only fucked-up person in the room.

He grabbed Thor's cock, fisted it until it hardened, mouth still attacking Thor's. There was a trick to it, and the trick was: do it fast. Don't get distracted.

His knees thudded as he dropped to the floor. Oh, he longed to get his mouth on Thor's body for _weeks_. He wanted it so much. He wanted _everything_ , and he would be damned if he couldn't have it.

Thor's cock sprung up when he slid down his pants, thick, heavy, delicious; Thor's hands tangled in his hair, his own breathing harsh and uneven. He said nothing, thank fuck, and Loki swallowed him down in one, fluid motion.

He had enough practice to pull it off. He had practice enough to deep-throat Thor like this, like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. And, fuck, he had never taken anyone bare, and it was so different, _so good_ , with the pre-cum thick on the back of his tongue, Thor's salty sweat, the potent musk of his skin – he sucked in earnest, hollowing his cheeks, Thor's grip on his hair painful and wonderful at the same time.

"Loki," Thor breathed somewhere above him, and Loki swirled his tongue around the head, popping it out of his mouth and then taking it right back in. His throat constricted but he had _some_ talents, and this was one of them.

"I—" Thor began, and Loki encouraged him with a bob of his head and fingers dug deep into the flesh of his thigh. His mouth was filled, lips stretched around the base of Thor's cock, and he loved every second of it, the texture of his bare skin, the wet drag of it—Thor's hips hitched, pushing deeper, and Loki took him gladly, smirking at the look of wide-eyed wonder in Thor's eyes—

"I'm—" Thor said. His balls tightened, and Loki rolled them in his hand, mouth sliding hungrily over Thor's length.

Thor pulled his hair a second before coming. Loki caught most of it, thick and sticky and unpleasant – and, fuck, he wanted _more_. Drops were splattered on his lips, and a trail of saliva followed Thor's cock as it slid from Loki's mouth.

He rested his head on Thor's thigh and tried to catch his breath. There was suddenly too much oxygen in the room, without the intrusion in his mouth; he was light-headed from it. Thor carded his fingers softly through Loki's hair and Loki swayed into the caress, jerking himself with one hand, the other still digging into Thor's skin.

He didn't need much. He didn't need much of anything at all, with the taste of Thor's seed on his tongue. He knew how he looked and was glad Thor couldn't see him – shamed and debauched, red-eyed, kneeling between Thor's spread thighs, coming—splattering come on his own hand and Thor's leg.

His hands were shaking. He was shaking all over.

What was he—oh.

"I'm clean by the way," he muttered. "If you were worried."

Thor's hand kept stroking his hair. Perhaps it wasn't the type of fucking he envisioned but it had to count for something, didn't it? It wasn't like Loki could be _more_ embarrassingly eager for it.

"Aren't you going to ask if I am?" Thor said.

"Does it matter?"

He intercepted Thor hand before it could move towards his face and feel the dampness on his cheeks. Crying during sex was only marginally better than changing his mind altogether, wasn't it?

Thor had the advantage of physical strength. Loki was pulled up, unceremoniously, and he buried his head in Thor's shoulder to avoid looking him in the eye. He felt good, with Thor's hands rubbing his back; so good he didn't ever want to move again.

"You can fuck me if you want to," he said, pressing his lips to Thor's skin.

"Now?"

"If you can get it up," Loki couldn't help but sneer.

"No, I don't think I could," Thor said. He was laughing but he was also tired, spent, exhausted; and Loki did that to him. "Tomorrow?"

"Could be," Loki said. Thor would be fine again. They would get this over with, and they could both be free.

He barely even blinked when Thor lifted him this time, and just wrapped his hands around Thor's neck.

"We should wash," he said.

"Tomorrow," Thor said. He carried Loki over to his bedroom and dumped him on the mattress; Loki curled on the side, hogging all the pillows and blankets he could get his hands on.

Thor sighed and pulled him into an embrace, trying to get some covers for himself.

"Loki?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to worry about me," Thor said softly, into the nape of Loki's neck. "If you hurt me, I'll leave you. I promise."

"Sure," Loki said.

Thor tightened his arm around Loki's chest and drew him even closer.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

The rumble of his voice, the vibrations of his chest, the steady beat of his heart – they were sensations rather than sounds, reverberating through every inch of their bodies. Loki closed his eyes and exhaled, settling into the comforting warm, a small smile stretching his lips.

"I do," he said. Soft, quiet.

Thor never caught the lie.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki is difficult, Thor is reckless and there's (mostly) cuddling and relationship drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first of all: gigantic THANK YOU to everyone who is still reading this thing :) And apologies for taking so long with the update! See, I had this fic mostly planned from the start, but this chapter? Didn't want to be written. It's still poorly researched and tragically unbeta'd but I wanted to post it before I go home for the holidays. Sorry about that, hope you'll enjoy anyway!
> 
> On a happier note: [alby_mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves) is being amazing and wonderful again! She drew this gorgeous thing - you can see it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3631128) or on [tumblr](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/post/114264903854/i-accidentally-art-nouveau-for-karuvapatta-who). Thank you so much ♥

"Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"

"I'm always sure," Thor said.

And he said it so carelessly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Loki felt a strong rush of envy. No, _his_ life allowed for everything butcertainty. But for Thor it was so simple, was it not?

Envy, however, had a lot of competition right now. Soon enough Loki's mind let go of it in favour of more pressing matters.

"We could do this the other way around," he said.

"Later," Thor told him. He grinned, wide and challenging. "Or are you scared?"

Loki scoffed. Ever since his little outburst – his second emotional breakdown around Thor – he had been stepping on needless, aching to prove to Thor that he _was_ brave, damn it. Looking in the mirror was harder and harder these days, when all he could see was a dirty fucking coward who cried like a girl and babbled all his deepest secrets. At least when he was alone he was the only person who had to look at himself.

But now he wasn't alone. Thor reminded him of this fact with a gentle squeeze to Loki's thigh.

Oh, lovely. Yet another reminded of how little Thor thought of him.

Loki narrowed his eyes and twirled the handcuffs on his finger. It had been a joke, initially. He only meant to embarrass Thor in front of his friends or, hopefully, his family. In retrospect he might have gone for the dildo, except the handcuffs were cheaper.

Now, though. Now he had a role to play. And he had to prove he _could_ play it. He had to distance himself in order to pull it off, which was no easy feat. Not with Thor: glorious, wonderful Thor, bare-chested and spread out beneath him. The sight of him still made Loki a little stupid and this just wouldn't do.

Because in the end Thor was just a man. He was handsome, sure, sculpted to near perfection, with his bright blue eyes, his sense of humour, his sharp intelligence, his infectious smile—

Loki considered banging his head against the nearest wall in order to clear his head. These thoughts _weren't helping_.

For some reason Thor wanted him here. Wanted Loki. _Trusted_ Loki. Loki bit his lip, trying to get into that frame of mind – slip into the role of the person _Thor_ saw when he looked at him, the person Thor found attractive. This was the trick, wasn't it? The only trick worth playing.

Slowly, deliberately, he ran his fingers over Thor's shoulder and arms.

Who was Thor, really? Right now he was just a man, caught in one of Loki's illusions. His eyes were focused on Loki, pupils blown wide with desire that didn't seem to fade, even after all the sex they had been having in celebration of their supposed friendship. He shivered when Loki touched him; he gasped when Loki licked a stripe down his breastbone.

Loki kissed his jaw and the spot behind it, breathing in the scent of Thor's shampoo. The lobe of Thor's ear was wonderfully sensitive and he bit it not-so-gently.

"Put your hands behind you head," he said, low and commanding. Thor obeyed with a smile but Loki kept his face impassive, and only regarded him coldly. It granted him no small amount of satisfaction, watching that bright-eyed certainty fade from Thor's expression.

The bed frame was made of dark wood, with posts running horizontally behind the head. They were pretty wide but they suited their purpose. Loki could put the handcuffs around one and then snap them around Thor's wrists, so that Thor could slide his hands left and right but couldn't pull them forward. The position wasn't exactly comfortable, but then again, comfort wasn't what they were after.

Loki sat back and allowed himself to admire the view. Thor probably could free himself – if he pulled hard enough it was anyone's guess what would be the first to give, the cheap handcuffs or the wooden frame. But like this – with his hands forced together and twisted behind him, his chest exposed, bound and helpless – he was beautiful. Loki was almost afraid to touch him, for fear of shattering the illusion. All that strength and control, neatly pulled back and laid bare in front of him – he would ruin it, he knew this. He would ruin Thor.

He traced the contours of Thor's muscles with his fingertips, as if he wanted to commit them to memory. He peppered every inch of Thor's golden skin with kisses, heedless of the way Thor trembled beneath him, silently asking for more. He kissed him, slow and thorough, enjoying the wet slide of their tongues and their shallow breathing.

His eyes never left Thor's face, even as his hand was crawling beneath the waistband of Thor's boxers. It was delightful to watch the widening of his eyes, the creeping flush, or his slightly open mouth – all because of Loki's questing fingers toying with his cock.

"You were right," Loki murmured. Thor wasn't a patient man; watching him struggle against his bindings, unable to do anything about Loki's agonizingly slow pace, was quite possibly the best thing Loki had seen this week. Or maybe ever. "This was an excellent idea."

With a final peck to Thor's cheek he slid lower, ridding Thor of his boxers entirely. Thor's cock was flushed and erect and Loki wet his lips and took it into his mouth. Thor's hips bucked violently, nearly gagging him, and Loki couldn't hold back a smile.

No, they had plenty of time. Loki intended to do the most of it.

He sucked Thor off, slowly, methodically, with rhythmic bobs of his head and languid, thorough swipes of tongue. Thor's cock was huge and heavy, firm and hot and silky-soft, slick with pre-come and Loki's own spit. It felt _right_ in his mouth, its weight already pleasantly familiar.

Thor growled, his hips bucking upwards. Loki was prepared this time, recognizing the flex of Thor's muscles beneath his splayed fingers, and pulled off with a wet pop.

"We aren't done," he said calmly, trying to mask the fact that he was breathless and dry-mouthed. He laughed under Thor's disbelieving glare.

"Come on," Loki slurred, looking into Thor's bright blue eyes while he licked the jut of his cock. "This is fun—"

Thor's arms tensed, his pecs pulling them forward as far as they would go, the handcuffs rattling. He was biting his reddened lip, and his cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink.

"Get on with it," he said hoarsely. And, fuck, the tone of his voice – part of Loki wanted to obey it without question. The other longed to do the exact opposite, if only so that it could relish whatever punishment followed.

"Patience," Loki said. He reached out for the lube on the nightstand and squeezed a thick blob of it onto his fingers. It smelled pleasantly of strawberries.

 _Oh._ Thor's eyes actually rolled back into his head, his entire body tensing when he felt the brush of Loki's slick fingers against his perineum. Loki smirked, feeling for the pucker – ah, there. He collected more lube and worked it inside in an agonizingly slow pace, to the tune of Thor's increasingly shallow breaths.

Once it was loose enough, he slipped his index finger into Thor's hole and swallowed his cock in one fluid motion.

" _Loki_ ," Thor gasped. "Fuck—"

He would come up with a clever retort but he was rather preoccupied with the pulsing girth of Thor's cock, gagging him in the most delicious ways. Another of his questing fingers dipped inside and he curled them inwards, pumped in and out, and searched—

"Oh—oh, _fuck_ ," Thor moaned, trembling. His thighs splayed wantonly wide, and his calf caught on Loki's back, urging him deeper—he was shaking, tilting his hips, pushing them into Loki's mouth and onto his fingers, lost in pleasure and so very beautiful—

Loki withdrew and Thor very nearly howled.

"Relax," Loki said comfortingly, kissing the length of Thor's breastbone. "We wouldn't want it to be over too quickly, would we?"

He reached for Thor's cock. It seemed fit to burst, and his balls were drawn up nice and tight. Loki gave it a few lazy tugs, observing the spasms of Thor's face, and the open circle of his red mouth.

"What—damn you," Thor growled. His eyes cracked open, trying to focus on Loki's face, blazing with the promise of violence. " _Finish me_."

"Ask me," Loki said, shivering. His hand quickened its pace and he leaned forward, catching Thor's lower lip between his teeth. "Nicely."

"Loki, I swear—" Thor began, his oath forgotten in favour of a loud moan.

"Mhmm," Loki said, kissing him. He licked a stripe over Thor's cheekbone, sucked a kiss to his neck, and continued fisting his cock, pausing at the slightest hint of Thor's impending orgasm. "I wish I had a cock ring to put on you," he mused, straight into Thor's ears. "I could go down on you for hours, as long as it took for my jaw to go numb and for you to start _begging_ , Odinson," he laughed softly. "Oh, I think I would enjoy that. And then I would put my tongue between your legs, get you all nice and loose, dripping lube – and then fuck you with my fingers, get you to come from that alone—do you think you could, Thor?" he asked sweetly. "Could you do this for me?"

"I'm going to—" Thor said, breathless, angry. "Damn you—end this, let me—"

Loki slid down his body, swallowed him down to the root, burying his nose in the golden curls and breathing in his scent. Thor was close, so close, strung up so tight—if he could just—

He pulled off just in time to watch Thor pound his head against the bedframe in frustration.

"Untie me," Thor snarled, getting past empty threats – the tone of his voice was enough to make Loki shiver.

"No," he said anyway, because he was Loki and he had things to prove. "Not yet."

" _Loki_."

This was getting better and better. The desperate note was like a balm to Loki's soul, bathing the sharp edges of his mind with warm, golden glow. He took the time to watch Thor, how beautiful he looked helpless and undone. And all of it was because of Loki.

"Ask again," he said, high on the fleeting sense of power, and very likely to embarrass himself completely in the process. His own cock twitched, demanding attention.

"Untie me," Thor said. When that had no effect, he gritted the safeword through his teeth. " _Red_. Red, damn you."

"Must I?" Loki grumbled. Very briefly, he considered ignoring it – he could yet reduce Thor to a sobbing mess, he knew that –although—

He reached for the handcuffs, fishing the tiny silver key from his pocket. Tempting as the thought was, he would be foolish to abuse Thor's trust like that. It was a nagging little voice in his head, seldom making an appearance to concern itself with concepts like basic human decency.

The handcuffs clicked open. Loki took Thor's wrists in his hands, to massage the white imprints of metal Thor had managed to grind into his skin. Really, he was amazed the thing hadn’t snapped – or perhaps Thor enjoyed the illusion of helplessness, or was merely content to wait and see if Loki would keep his word—

He yelped, panicked. His arms were pulled behind, his body wrestled down onto the mattress, face-first into the pillow. Instincts kicked in and he fought, thrashing wildly, against the immovable weight pinning him down.

"Calm down," Thor growled into his ear.

 _Oh_. Well. He ought to be ashamed of how quickly he obeyed. The low, commanding rumble of Thor's voice bypassed his higher brain functions and sank directly into his muscles. Some perfunctory wriggling was still in order – and wriggle he did, although instead of dislodging Thor he only managed to grind his ass against Thor's hard cock.

"Is this—" Thor began, with badly concealed impatience. He gripped Loki's right hand by the wrist, twisting it behind his back. His other hand was already scrambling at Loki's belt. "Can I—"

And Loki hated him for it. Hated him for the hesitation in his voice, this tiresome insistence on treating Loki like he was made of glass.

"If you don’t fuck me right now I'm going to find someone else who will," Loki said sweetly – and got his reward, a hand tangling in his hair, pulling his head back so that he had to bare his throat, panting.

"No," Thor growled.

The button of Loki's trousers was a thing of the past. Thor ripped them off, shoving Loki's hips upwards, his head and shoulders still pressed firmly onto the pillow. Loki had to turn his head and spit sweat-soaked hair from his mouth, draw in a few gasping breaths while Thor swore and shoved two fingers inside of him, finding him already wet and stretched.

"Clever, aren't you?" Thor said. His ungentleness was delightful and refreshing. Loki did spend an extended while preparing himself beforehand, hoping that this would be where the night ended. Yet Thor still managed to force keening, high-pitched noises from his throat, doing too much and too fast.

Loki barely had the time to gasp his name when he felt the thick head of Thor's cock against his entrance – and then the full length of it, pushing in, fucking into him like he was made for this purpose, his entire body designed for Thor's pleasure. He couldn't help himself, couldn't stop the flood of embarrassing confessions spilling from his tongue. Instead he sank his teeth into the pillow, his hips snapping forward in rhythm with Thor's thrusts. The burn and stretch was incredible, and the occasional drag of his own cock against the sheets nearly made him sob.

"You little wretch," Thor grunted out. "Look what you've done to me."

Whatever it was, it felt divine. Loki accentuated his opinion by wriggling his hips, silently begging for more.

And he got it – oh, and how. In the end it took an embarrassingly short time, Thor's hand curling around his cock, Thor's growl in his ear – _Come for me_ – and Loki did.

He was dimly aware of Thor fucking into him a couple more times, chasing his own release. Then he stuttered to a stop, sweaty and breathing as if he had just run a marathon.

Which was essentially how Loki felt, too. Every muscle he had ached, as well as some the existence of which he wasn't even aware. He grumbled, incoherently, while Thor kissed the knobs of his spine and then shivered when he felt hot breath ghosting over his neck.

"Still doubting me, Loki?" Thor said smugly.

"Hngh," Loki said.

He let Thor drag him to the shower and didn't even have the strength to protest while Thor cuddled him, kissed him to sleep, all the while seeming worryingly fond.

***

The calls were mounting up.

Loki rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the impending headache. His phone, with its damned cheerful chiming noise, was driving him up the wall. But he wasn't ready to deal with Odin, not yet.

Perhaps he had some Tylenol in the medicine cupboard. Yes, the headaches were becoming a problem. He assumed they were brought on by a combination of stress, nicotine craving and lack of sleep forced by Thor's annoyingly early-bird persona.

Loki put away the laptop and pushed himself off the couch. His footsteps padded softly on the wooden floor – Thor was busy studying, and his concentration was fragile at best. He would burst out of his room at the slightest hint that Loki was up to something, eager to _do_ things that didn't involve staying buried in books.

The cupboard was where Loki kept his medicine. He rummaged, searching for the little plastic bottle before something else caught his eye – the little box of Dalmane, positioned differently than its normal resting place.

Loki froze. He wasn't paranoid – oh, okay, he was slightly paranoid. But his stay at the detention centre taught him to carefully watch his possessions. He learned very quickly how to tell if someone was stealing his stuff, mostly so that he could avoid making the same mistakes when stealing from other people. But in here there was just him and Thor.

All the remaining capsules were still in place but the leaflet had obviously been taken out and then carelessly shoved back inside. Loki smoothed it and folded it again. He heard the click of a door, the already familiar rhythm of Thor's steps as he emerged from his room. He was restless, swinging an empty cup of coffee in one hand.

"Trouble sleeping?" Loki asked casually.

"What?" Thor said, blinking, with one hand already on the coffee machine. Then he noticed the box in Loki's hand and his expression clouded over. "Oh. That."

"I don't particularly mind," Loki said, keeping his voice light. "But you could ask first."

"I didn't take anything," Thor said. "Where do you even get them from, Loki?"

Loki shrugged. "There's a doctor I know. Lovely wife, two beautiful daughters… and an unfortunate proclivity for casual sex." He couldn't help the predatory grin that stretched his lips. "With the photographs I have in my possession, I could get him to prescribe me anything."

Thor's displeasure was obvious, and it grated on Loki's nerves. The knowledge how far his need for Thor's approval _really_ run made him even more irritable.

"How about actual medicine?" Thor asked coolly. "Have you considered—"

"I need therapy, is that what you're trying to say?" Loki said. The stress was getting to him; the hearing next week was shaping up to be a disaster. His defence attorney tried to keep optimistic but he could tell she didn't believe they stood any chance whatsoever. And now _Thor_ was needling him. "Someone to _fix me_ , right? Put me on the right pills and make me a little less crazy?"

"I did not say that—" Thor said, a touch of guilt creeping into his tone that froze the blood in Loki's veins.

"But you meant it," he said, with faux cheer. "Your selfless kindness is truly humbling. Soon enough you will make me see sense, won't you? Trim away all the bits that _you_ disapprove of, shape me nicely to your liking?"

"This is _not_ what I meant!" Thor very nearly shouted, slamming the coffee mug on the counter.

"Isn't it?" Loki said. He slid into Thor's personal space, made his eyes appear wide and innocent. "But you are not wrong for wanting me to change my wicked ways. It would be for the better. You could save me. Swoop in and save me like the hero you are," he ran his hands over Thor's chest, high on his fury. "You could make me _better_. What a wonderful person you are…"

He wasn't being fair and he knew it. No, he couldn't truly believe Thor was treating him like his own personal project – he was way too nice for that. But the implications was getting under his skin, sowing seeds of doubt inside his mind. And Loki's frustrations were getting the better of him, as was their tendency.

Because, simply put, there was nothing he could do. In the end he would just be a pawn in somebody's game, used and discarded and ultimately meaningless. But he could get _Thor_ to feel something – rage and guilt and shame. This sense of power was too good to let go.

"I didn't mean _any_ of that. I'm just worried about you," Thor said, transfixed. He was breaking already, his emotions too raw for him to control. "Sleeping pills can be addictive and I don't want you to become—"

"A junkie?" Loki said. "On top of being a criminal?"

Thor was staring at him, quite helplessly. Loki couldn't help himself, couldn't stop the bitter laughter. He caressed Thor's cheek, the stubble catching on the skin of his palm.

"Oh, Thor," he said fondly. "Perhaps it's time you faced the truth? That this fascination you have with poor, troubled little me is becoming too much to handle?"

"It is not," Thor said, but with no trace of his usual certainty.

"But it _will_ ," Loki hissed, trapping Thor's face between his palms. His eyes were so wide and so beautiful, electric blue, full of bright, uncomplicated emotions that Loki himself didn't know how to feel. "Next week, next month, next year – you are never going to know. And then you will realize that you should have listened to your father. You should have kept away from me."

Fuck, even Thor's smell was intoxicating. Loki had trouble thinking straight when they were close like that. Close enough to kiss. He wanted it, badly – Thor's soft, warm lips, his strong hands, his _everything_. It didn't matter how many times they've been together because it only seemed to make Loki want him more.

"You're wrong," Thor whispered, his breath ghosting over Loki's lips. The words were a perfectly accurate description and Loki _hated_ the part of himself that recoiled at hearing Thor say them.

"I am," he said cheerfully. Thor's disapproval should not bother him as much as it did. It was childish, incredibly so, to want Thor to hold him in high esteem.

Thor's hands crept on Loki's hips, making him shiver. He seemed to have regained his footing, and there was, once again, the calm sureness in his gaze that alternatively made Loki want to melt in his embrace or punch holes in the walls in jealous anger.

"You're wrong," Thor repeated, holding him close. "I don't want you to change, I want you to stop doing—this."

"And what would _this_ be?" Loki said, dropping a kiss to Thor's jaw. One, and then another.

"Like what you're doing right now," Thor said. He kept himself steady, not reacting to Loki's attempts at distraction. "You are trying to push me away."

"I am doing anything _but_ ," Loki said, bristling. Thor's eyes were too blue and too honest. He couldn't stand to look into them even a second longer.

"Do I scare you?" Thor asked, attempting to catch Loki's gaze. His index fingers hooked in the belt of Loki's jeans – possessive, but not insistent. This hesitation was something new. Did Thor think himself a dangerous man, then? Had he done something he regretted?

"No," Loki said, even though he wasn't certain what Thor meant. Physical violence, perhaps. But he had some experience in the area and it would take too long to explain that he would rather find himself at the receiving end of it than risk _becoming_ his father.

"So what is it?" Thor asked. "Are you afraid of commitment?"

Loki snorted. "I'm about to go to jail, Thor. That's a pretty big commitment."

"Not what I meant."

Loki was getting fed up with this conversation. He kissed Thor's neck and turned around, slipping out of his embrace altogether. He ached at the loss, and wasn't it just pathetic?

"I will make you a coffee," he offered brightly.

Thor said nothing at his clumsy attempts at evasion. He started doing dishes instead, eager to get his hands on something productive. Ever the man of action – and Loki envied that, too. Especially when he had those days when he couldn't get out of bed, couldn't get anything done, couldn't _function_. But, in a way, he was also grateful. Living with Thor forced him to trudge through his worst moments, unwilling to call attention to himself. The exhausting, overwhelming pointlessness of his existence paled in comparison to the humiliation of Thor's bright-eyed concern.

He filled the coffee maker with freshly ground beans, breathing in their scent. It was early afternoon, plenty of time for Thor to go back to his books. But no, he seemed reluctant to do that, breaking the awkward silence with his next question.

"Is that how you made your money?" he asked with his back to Loki, still focused on the sink.

"Blackmail, yes," Loki said. "It's neater. People tend to report stolen property, but rich men? No, they won't risk their marriages or their reputation, so long as the price isn't too high."

"So what was the price?" Thor said.

"It depends," Loki shrugged. "I had a guy, a politician. Famous, wholesome, family man. He paid me few hundred each month to keep it that way."

"This doesn't strike you as unethical?" Thor said, in his high-and-mighty privileged tone that he mostly kept at bay.

"I didn't make them cheat, did I?" Loki said irritably. "Or do drugs."

He pressed his lips together, not liking the arch of Thor's eyebrows. His disappointment was like Frigga's, rattling something deep inside of Loki. Some dregs of conscience, buried deep, almost forgotten.

"And there was the other stuff," he said, perhaps to shock Thor. "I don't like stealing, true, but I've done it more than a few times. Fraud, too. Anything to keep afloat."

"So why didn't you get caught?"

"Because I was _careful_ ," Loki said. "Careful about not taking too much, so that ignoring me would be less troublesome than trying to chase me down. Plus I left no evidence. They have no option except to force a confession out of me."

Unless Odin was lying. Unless there were rules to this game that Loki wasn't privy to.

Wouldn't be the first time, really.

"But my father wants—" Thor began.

"Your father," Loki said, "wants another notch in his belt, that is all."

Thor threw him a surprised look.

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't pretend daddy doesn't let you read everything over his shoulder," Loki spat out. And—damn. Thor frowned, something like hurt flashing in his bright blue eyes. Immediately after, Loki wanted to kick himself in the shin.

He cleared his throat. The rattle of the coffee machine was the only sound breaking the heavy, awkward silence. His movements were mechanical – Thor liked plenty of milk and syrup in his coffee. Loki fetched the carton from the fridge, sniffed its contents, poured it in. Then he retrieved the bottle of vanilla syrup and measured it carefully, all the while aware of Thor's gaze prickling at the back of his neck.

He set the cup of what could only be generously referred to as "coffee" on the counter. His fingers were winding together of their own accord and he resisted the urge to dig nails into his skin. An old habit, and occasionally pleasant, but it might raise questions he wasn't ready to answer.

In the meantime Thor turned back to his dishes, having apparently figured out that it was useless to expect an apology from Loki. And rightfully so.

Still. Loki sneaked up on him and wrapped his hands around Thor's waist, pressing himself to his broad muscled back. It radiated comforting heat even through the thin cotton shirt, worn and washed so many times it was frying at the edges. But Loki loved this shirt, would wear it himself when Thor wasn't home, wrapping himself in Thor's scent.

Thor froze and relaxed immediately after. His blond hair tickled Loki's nose and Loki blew it away with a huff of breath, pressing a kiss to the bare skin visible above Thor's collar.

"There's a man," Loki said in low murmur. Slowly, melodiously, as if he was telling a story. "They call him Thanos. He's an important figure in the underworld – think mafia. Think _The Godfather_ , only less stylish. And less concerned with family ties, from what I heard." He laughed humourlessly, burying his face between Thor's shoulder blades. "Anyway. It's the usual stuff: drugs, prostitution, gang wars. Except Thanos doesn't have sides in the wars, because he owns all of them. And the worst part is, _everyone knows_."

"Then why isn't he in jail?" Thor asked.

"Because he's rich. And if he cannot bribe someone, he threatens them. And if he cannot threaten, he murders. No-one is willing to testify against him," Loki inhaled. The air was nicer here, trapped between their bodies, warm and smelling pleasantly of laundry detergent and Thor's deodorant and home. "This is your father's specialty, by the way. Really dangerous criminals. As for me – Odin thinks I know something."

"Do you?"

" _No_ ," Loki said. "I avoided organized crime as best as I could. There are – rules and people to obey."

"And you're not good at obeying," Thor said, amused.

Loki hugged him tighter and laughed softly. "No, I am not. But they approached me, once. I suppose that's how I got on Odin's radar."

It was a dirty job, involving selling a non-existent company and some financial shenanigans that screamed of laundering money. He had no idea where the money was coming from and, frankly, had no stomach to try and found out. But he was in a tight spot back then, knowing he would have to choose between food and rent. And Loki didn't want to be that poor, ever again.

"I have met Thanos, and so what?" Loki said. "As well as some of his lackeys. But this is not enough for Odin's purpose. I cannot tell him anything he doesn't already know."

"Can't you talk to him?" Thor said.

"What, detail my criminal background to the man prosecuting my case?" Loki snorted. "I'm still pleading innocence here, remember?"

Thor leaned backwards, resting his head on Loki's shoulder, and flashed him a grin. "And yet you're telling me."

"Hmm," Loki said. "Were you sent here to seduce away all my secrets, Odinson?" He nipped at Thor's ear. "You do know you're my only friend," he murmured. "Would you abuse my trust so?"

The amusement faded from Thor's expression, replaced by something much softer. Loki hoped Thor knew he was playing, that he didn't mean it. Didn't mean any of this. It was all a ploy, designed to make Thor feel guilty—

"No," Thor said, painfully earnest. "I would not."

They kissed, but it wasn't arousal coursing through Loki's veins. He was familiar with arousal. No, this was fear. And he knew fear, too.

***

Thor took to disappearing on most days.

Loki didn't mind. The next hearing was scheduled for Friday morning and his mood turned rapidly south whenever he thought about it. He spent long, empty hours with his gaze fixed on the wall, snapping and unsnapping his pocket knife, the little blade flickering in the light. Around Thor he would still make an effort – wash and dress himself, cook dinner, _eat_. But mostly he just wanted to sleep: drift off into unconsciousness.

He supposed jail would be a reprieve, of a sort. Not much further to fall.

The click of a door barely made him flinch. These days he felt so desensitized to the outside world it was hard to work up any kind of reaction. But he heard the sound of Thor's heavy footsteps, his gym bag hitting the tiled floor, the rattle of the coat-hangers. He took a deep breath, and then another, the air tasteless and cold; cigarettes. He needed cigarettes.

The blade snapped shut in his hand. Thor got jittery around it, refusing even to let Loki keep it under the pillow ever since they started sleeping in the same bed.

"I got pizza," Thor said cheerfully, hefting the box in one hand and a crate of beer in the other. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Sure," Loki lied. Forced himself to move, look at Thor, smile. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm feeling lazy, that's the occasion," Thor said, depositing the box on the counter. "Give me five minutes?"

Loki murmured his consent towards Thor's back, already disappearing in the bathroom. He was stupidly grateful Thor had texted him that he was coming back, so that he could make himself presentable. This—thing—between them was still raw and new; Loki was uncomfortable looking less than his best. He would hate for Thor to see him un-showered, with greasy matted hair and stubble on his cheeks.

He padded over to the kitchen and made some perfunctory preparations – plates and cutlery they weren't likely to use. The pizza smelled nice, reminding him of all the meals he had skipped recently because they seemed like too much work.

 _Five minutes._ It was more like ten, Thor taking a brisk shower and changing into sweatpants and tank top. He emerged from the bathroom, running his fingers through his damp hair. It was getting longer, Loki observed, curling faintly at the ends. The hair and the beard made Thor look a little wild, rough around the edges; it was hard to imagine him smooth-shaven and cropped short, as per the army regulations.  Loki should really pry some pictures out of him, although he suspected the sight of Thor in uniform would be too much for him to handle.

Their supper was laid out on the coffee table. Loki connected his laptop to Thor's impressive flat-screen TV with an indie movie he thought Thor might enjoy. He had a fondness of these movies, quiet and contemplative, confused as to their meaning and purpose. Back in school he used to collect the oddities around him: movies and music, poetry and foreign authors. Hours upon hours spent in the library, away from his house, from the crowded streets and boring classmates, searching for things that were ill-fitting and strange and made him feel slightly better about being that way himself.

Well. That was then. Loki had managed to outgrow the childish idealism very quickly, even if his teenage rebellious phase still clung to him, unpleasant. Although it was indisputably more fun when he was younger, and still able to believe in the uniqueness of his experiences. Now it just made him tired.

"How was MMA?" he asked, settling on one end of the couch with his legs bent before him. Discomfort made his skin crawl, and he felt marginally better with this barrier between them.

This was silly. He missed Thor, trapped and alone in this apartment, bored out of his mind. But now that he had Thor's bright, golden presence before him, he felt overwhelmed, exposed, longing to crawl back into some hole and never ever leave.

"Good," Thor said. "You'd like Steve. He's your type."

"Oh?" Loki raised his eyebrows. "And what type is that?"

"Tall, muscled," Thor said, somewhat smugly. "Blond. Handsome."

Loki had to snort at that. Thor's bashful little smile erupted into a wider grin.

"Are you trying to pawn me off to your gym buddies?" Loki said.

Thor settled on the couch, his eyes fixed on Loki's face. It felt so strange, to be subject to such open, non-judgemental scrutiny; Loki shivered slightly when Thor put a proprietary hand on his knee.

"No, but if you _are_ going to flirt with my friends – or with anyone – pick Steve. He's good, I wouldn't be able to hurt him too badly."

Thor's fingers travelled downwards, squeezing the muscle of his calf. His obvious possessive streak always sent a thrill down Loki's spine – and it wasn't different now, even though he had to toss his head back, lying it down on the armrest, eyes shut so that Thor's wouldn't be able to read too much into them.

"Why would you beat _him_ , though? If that was me doing the flirting?" he asked, genuinely curious. Thor's touch was familiar and sure, and so very warm; Loki's mind drifted to the prison he was going to end up at, where he would be deprived of it. He thought of other things too, secrets he still kept, lies he had told. Of which one would be enough to finally push Thor away. He longed to snatch his leg back, resenting the contact, but didn't want to make Thor feel unwelcome in his affection.

"Obviously because I have better uses for you," Thor said, laughing softly even as he said it. He pressed a kiss to Loki's knee, clothed though it was, and squeezed his ankle.

Loki opened his mouth and exhaled, his heart beating a little faster. Heat was pooling in his belly, muscles relaxing. He thought of spreading his legs, inviting Thor to crawl between them like he very obviously wanted to, kissing his full pink lips.

They had time. They could enjoy it a little while longer, this illusion of intimacy.

"Pizza," he said, scrambling up to grab a slice. Thor looked vaguely disappointed but got distracted quickly, his appetite getting the better of him. The pizza was still hot enough to burn their fingers, covered with thick greasy cheese.

They sat in companionable silence, Loki propped up on the pillows on the opposite side of the couch with his legs draped over Thor's lap. He hoped the distance he tried to put between them wasn't noticeable, or hurtful; but Thor was always easy with his affection, generous in his touches, and Loki wouldn't be able to stand it right now, not with his stomach twisted into tight, worried knots.

Thor polished his half of the pizza and then a substantial part of Loki's, since Loki made excuse after excuse about his poor appetite, edging the cardboard box in Thor's direction. That was partially true, even if the food did make him feel better, easing some of the hollowness gaping under his skin.

The movie was going on in the background, with its dreary landscapes and equally bleak music. Loki had seen it before so he resolved to watch Thor's face instead, cataloguing his expressions: the little frowns, crinkles in the corner of his eyes, tiny smiles. He seemed peaceful, his elbow casually perched on Loki's knees, picking bits of ham and cheese from his plate.

"Do we have paper towels?" he said, inspecting his greasy fingers.

"We've run out," Loki said flatly. "I forgot to buy them. Here—"

He grabbed Thor's wrist before he could escape and tugged himself forward. He wasn't even trying to be particularly seductive, licking a wide stripe around Thor's fingers and sucking them into his mouth. He kept his eyes demurely down, a gesture of submission no-one was likely to believe, enjoying the weight on his tongue, the faint curve of the fingers, the soft pad of Thor's thumb brushing his chin.

When he raised his eyes he found Thor watching him, his pupils blown wide and his voice an octave deeper. "I really only wanted the towels," Thor said, hypnotized, brushing his thumb over Loki's lower lip. "But this is nice, too."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Loki said haughtily.

He let himself be scooped up into Thor's arms, pillowed against his muscular chest. The movie carried on but Loki had other things to think about, now: Thor's embrace, warm and strong, his lips absently kissing Loki's scalp, his heavy arm thrown over Loki's chest. Loki felt his eyelids drop, the weariness of the past few days – months, _years_ – finally getting to him. But it was easier, so easy, to believe that he could just doze off and wake up tightly held. That any of this could last.

When the credits finally rolled, Thor hummed. "That was less confusing than I thought."

"Don't worry, I saved the really weird stuff for later," Loki murmured sleepily.

Later. There would be no later.

"I see," Thor said. Careful, reluctant. "Honestly, I don't think I'm ready for whatever it is you, of all people, consider weird."

Loki snorted. "You will have fun finding out," he said. His voice was steady and sure enough to fool Thor, telling him all the things he wanted to hear anyway, things he _wished_ were true. Lying had never been easier.

"Yes, I suppose I will," Thor said. He put something else on TV, a football game Loki couldn't care less about. But he kept him close, anchored in his arms, his fingers absently curling Loki's hair on his fingers.

Loki's limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. What little sleep he had been able to get lately was troubled and restless. He would wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing, and crawl out of bed to walk barefoot into the narrow balcony. Chilly night air felt pleasant on his skin, keeping him numb, cradling him. Thor was a furnace in comparison, sprawled on the bed and always running high on energy, even in his sleep.

But now Loki had no desire to move. He drifted off, the match slipping in and out of his focus. Thor was commenting at the appropriate moments, trying to shake some enthusiasm into Loki's prone form only to have his efforts met with sleepy grunts.

"Loki?" Thor said eventually. It started to rain outside, the steady patter on the window panes not entirely unpleasant.

"Hmm?"

"I have something for you."

Loki blinked. He must have dozed off with his head pillowed on Thor's shoulder and noticed, mortified, that his lips were parted and he had been drooling over Thor's shirt.

The match was coming to an end, thankfully. Thor had turned down the volume some time ago and was now slipping a hand into the pocket of his sweat pants. The movement jostled Loki slightly and he frowned, trying to find a more comfortable position. Thor's arms came back around him, something hidden in his large hand.

"What's that?" Loki asked, accepting the—gift—

The growing stiffness of his fingers made it difficult to examine it. It was a box, small and covered in dark green velvet. He snapped it open – there it was, on a plump white cushion: a thin brand of gold. Upon closer inspection he saw that the ring was carved in the shape of a coiling snake with tiny emerald eyes.

Silence stretched between them. Thor said nothing, but the tightening of his embrace betrayed his nervousness. The question hung in the air, unspoken.

"Isn't it a bit too early for that?" Loki said eventually, his tone curiously flat.

"I know," Thor said. "But I'm not asking you to elope with me this very instant. Let's just… get engaged."

Loki took out the ring and rolled it between his fingers. Real gold, probably, knowing Thor.

"Why?"

It ought to worry him, how completely empty he felt inside. He had never considered himself the type to settle down and _marry,_ not even—well, not ever.

He felt Thor's hand cup his cheek, trying to turn his head with toe-curling gentleness, so that they could see each other. But Loki didn't particularly fancy looking into Thor's earnest blue eyes and rested his face in the crook of his neck instead, breathing in the familiar scent.

"I don't know," Thor said, sighing. "It's just—even when I'm holding you I get the feeling you're about to run away. So I'd like to have your word. That is all."

Loki snorted, humourlessly. "My word isn't worth much," he said.

"And I'd like it nonetheless," Thor said, with this very Thor-like sureness that made Loki want to punch him, sometimes.

He felt calm enough to turn and face the weight of Thor's gaze. Despite his initial assumptions Thor looked almost shy – there was an uncertain twist to his smile. His eyes widened slightly, the horizontal lines that marked his brow deepened. Loki had to kiss him then, knowing it would be a crime not to. Not when Thor wore that hopeful expression.

"You have a colossal masochistic streak, don't you?" Loki said, smirking.

"You have no idea," Thor said. His kisses grew insistent, and the hand he wrapped around Loki's neck seemed intent on never letting go. "I guess I don't like being bored."

Well. Loki had thought for quite a while now that Thor's fascination with him wasn't entirely healthy. It was difficult to pinpoint _where_ , exactly, it was stemming from – perhaps Thor's adventurous nature and excess energy clashed with his neat, privileged life. Perhaps he thought he could save Loki from himself. Perhaps—

Thor's mouth was soft, slightly chapped, persistent in its attempts to steal Loki's breath away. The wet drag of his tongue and the playful look in his eyes did something funny to Loki's stomach, to the blood in his veins, to every inch of his skin. The ring almost slipped from his limp fingers, and he itched to get his hands on Thor, right about _now_ , while he was doing this delightful thing to Loki's neck that made him weak in the knees. And everywhere else, too.

He moaned, shameless, feeling Thor's hand slide under his shirt. It didn't do anything untoward, merely rested there, thumb caressing Loki's ribs. But it seemed Thor couldn't even look at Loki without stirring something inside him, a kind of hunger he never thought himself capable of feeling.

They made out on the couch like over-eager teenagers, and Loki let the moment stretch. Deep contentment settled in his bones, and he could, for a while, imagine that it would last.

Once he gathered his courage, he snapped the box shut without looking and pushed it towards Thor's chest. He hated himself a little – _a lot_ – for making Thor wait like that.

Thor looked up at him, with a frighteningly soft smile. His face shone with it. Loki brushed the corner of his mouth with a thumb and pressed a kiss there, quick and light. Apologetic.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry, but—no."

It was a terrible thing, watching the light die in Thor's eyes. The—the _happiness_ washed away from his expression, so fast Loki could scarcely believe it had ever been there.

"Why?" Thor asked, hoarsely. His lips were reddened, glistening with saliva. He had a lingering mark on the side of his jaw, where Loki had latched his mouth onto just moments before.

"This isn't the best moment," Loki said. He had his oncoming trial to worry about, and an indefinite amount of time spend in jail. Surely Thor hadn't forgotten.

"And if I asked you after the trial?" Thor said, persistent as ever. "If you were acquitted?"

Loki smiled softly. "If that ever happens? Sure. Yes."

He tried to draw back, push the little velvet box into Thor's palm. But Thor wouldn't let him go, wouldn't stop _looking_.

"You're lying," he said quietly.

There was something lodged in Loki's throat that he tried to swallow past. "Why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, but you know I _would_ ," Loki said carefully, licking his lips. "How—perceptive."

Thor seemed to recoil from his expression and Loki could hardly blame him. The emotions twisting inside him were ugly indeed, a mixture of jealousy, hatred and helpless rage. If any of that shown on his face – if Thor saw it – no, he was right.

"Very well," Loki's voice dropped to a hiss. "I lied. It seemed kinder."

Fuck. He felt a prickling in his eyes; what was infinitely worse, he had to look into Thor's. He didn't—well, he was being kind, wasn't he? He was _trying_. He couldn't remember the last time he cared enough to try. He never meant to hurt Thor. But Thor had to know, he _had to_ , what a mess Loki was, that he couldn't afford to pay even a meagre part of the rent, that he could barely function let alone offer Thor any kind of support, that he wasn't going to change, he would never change, he would only drag them both along the worst possible path—

Was Thor trying to mock him? Was that what it was about, an elaborate joke at his expense?

Maybe he misjudged Thor. Maybe he was selfish and cruel, just like Loki, just like everyone else. Whatever he really was, he couldn't possibly live up to the image of him Loki had built in his head.

He ought to move, get up from the damned couch and—and sleep, preferably forever. He willed his useless legs to _move_ , before Thor decided to push him away.

But, no, they weren't cooperating. He couldn't even rely on his own damned limbs. Instead he stayed, fisting his hands in the material of Thor's shirt and resting his forehead in the crook of his arms, dreading the moment he would be made to let go.

The box fell down somewhere, between their bodies. Thor retrieved it carefully, remarkably calm.

"I wish I understood you better," he said, bitterly. "I thought this was what you wanted."

A bark of hysterical laughter tore from Loki's chest, startling them both.

"You know the best part?" he said, hardly believing what was coming out of his mouth and yet knowing it to be true. "It is. It actually is."

He thought Thor might appreciate the joke. Judging by his expression, he did not.

***

Things got strained afterwards.

They were stiff and careful around each other. Later that night, when Loki made to fetch himself a blanket and settle down on the couch, Thor looked at him with a troubled expression. Then he sighed, looking worn and older, and said, _Stay_ , in a tired voice.

Loki fought with himself for all of five minutes before losing. The prospect of sleeping alone on the damned couch was unappealing, to say the least. Of course he regretted the decision ten minutes later, with the two of them curled awkwardly on the separate sides of the bed, facing away from each other. It made him long for the easy intimacy they allowed themselves to fall into.

Thor left in the morning; Loki brooded. It went on like this for a couple of days, before they slipped back into their routines and the shadow of what used to be a friendship.

One day Thor even brought along his new friend – Steve Rogers, blond and muscled and handsome, exactly as advertised. He squeezed Loki's hand and offered him a warm smile, quickly turning out to be the most straightforward and boringly polite of Thor's friends.

Of course _he_ talked to Thor, and laughed at his jokes, clapping him on the shoulder. They stood together in the kitchen, two walking specimens of physical perfection. Thor smiled at him, laidback and relaxed in a way he hadn't been in days. Not around Loki, anyway.

He ditched them both and went for a long walk, angry at Steve for his easy rapport with Thor, angry at Thor for being so disgustingly wonderful, angry at the weather – and most of all angry at himself.

Late at night, restless and awake, he listened to Thor's snoring and let his mind wander. They could have a life together. Well, they _could_. It would work for a while – until it wouldn't anymore – but, for a while, it _might_.

It scrolled through his head like a particularly boring made-for-TV movie, with Christmas dinners and summer holidays at the coast, filled with houseplants neither remembered to water, and ugly curtains they could fight about. Thor spending too many long hours at work and Loki sexting him at the most inappropriate moments. And they could have a small house with neatly-trimmed lawn, an indoor library and a music room – unfulfilled childhood dreams that were too silly to indulge in, and therefore startled him out of thoughts.

And Thor. Always Thor. Gorgeous, and perfect, and _his_.

 _Well._ Loki shifted, feeling for his pills and a glass of water. _Not anymore._

***

He got the call Thursday evening, around eleven. Ten minutes later he was out of the house, running into the night, underdressed in Thor's summer jacket because it was the first one he managed to get his hands on.

The cab spat him out on the parking lot, busy even at this hour of the night. He shoved some money in the direction of the cabbie, not bothering to count it. He felt like a sleepwalker, oddly disconnected from his surroundings – the people, the sounds, the smell of this place.

Frigga was one of the only people in the waiting room, paler than Loki had ever seen but remarkably calm. She sat rigidly, staring straight ahead, hands clutched tight on her handbag.

He slowed down, uncertain how to approach. She startled when his shadow fell across her, blocking the sharp luminescent lights.

"Loki?" she said, surprised. As if she hadn't been the one to call him.

"What happened?" he asked, finally voicing the question that had been gnawing at him throughout the cab ride.

He hated how calm she looked, managing even a faint smile.

"We don't know," she said softly. "Someone tipped off the police. The ambulance brought him in about an hour ago. He's in the OR now."

It felt inadequate. He had a million questions, all the _wheres_ and _whys_ and _whos_ that he wanted to scream out loud, demanding answers. He spun around, searching for a doctor or a nurse, anyone that could tell him something useful – and then looked back to Frigga, terrified of the hollow expression on her face.

"Are you well?" she asked. _Small talk._ She was making _small talk_. "Thor mentioned you had a fight."

"We--," he swallowed. "Where is he?"

"I've told you. In surgery."

"I want to see him," he said. He knew how childish he sounded, how selfish – but he wanted to see Thor, he _needed_ to see Thor, to know that he was alright, that it was all a mistake, a cruel joke—

"You can't," she said, not unkindly. "They will tell us as soon as they know something."

She had no right to look so calm.

He paced the length of the waiting room. In truth it wasn't even that: just a number of plastic chairs wedged wherever, among the many doors and general clutter. Frigga wasn't the only one waiting but it was mostly silent, disturbed by an orderly washing the floor at the other end of the corridor.

The others were giving him looks so he went back.

Frigga didn't look up this time. He hovered, unsure, not wanting to bother her. He had known Thor for a handful of months and already he had made himself a critical part of Loki's life, pushing everything else in the background. But he was Frigga's son. He wondered what it would be like, to have Thor's broad smile accompany most of his memories.

"Sit down, please," she said eventually.

He did, leaving a space of one empty chair between them and feeling foolish for it. He hadn't meant to make her feel like he was avoiding her, but also had no desire to make himself seem like an intruder.

His thoughts were racing. Thor had come home around midday, obviously distracted. He had been in a strange mood lately, leaving at odd hours, barely paying attention to what was going on around him. Today he, at least, acknowledged Loki's presence – they had dinner, horribly awkward though it was, and Thor actually pecked Loki's forehead before he left around five, saying something about Steve Rogers. And that he might spend the night at his place.

Loki had been too livid to say anything at this point. Three days and Thor was already—

Steve. He could call Steve. As soon as the thought entered his head he had the phone in his hand, thumbing through his contacts—only to remember that, no, Steve's number wasn't there. Loki never bothered to get it.

Fuck. No—he wanted to do something, anything. The situation was already getting surreal – because this was impossible. Thor was okay. Thor was somewhere, safe and sound, maybe hitting on Steve Rogers or Sif or any of the hundred happy attractive people he surrounded himself with. The whole concept was a fabrication of Loki's twisted mind, wishing harm on Thor for—for putting him through all this.

He felt calmer now. Yes, nothing but his sick imagination brought him here. He ought to—

A shrill sound of ringtone broke the silence. Frigga shifted in her seat, retrieving it – and Loki felt an inexplicable bout of rage. Because if he had made it up, why was she even here? Why was she wearing this expression if Thor was _fine_?

"Yes?" she said.

Loki pushed himself to his feet and walked away. He didn't want to know what she was about to say. He didn't want to know anything at all.

His feet carried him down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. This part of the hospital was silent and deserted, with large heavy doors blocking the entrance to the ward. Lights were on, stark white, illuminating the ugly orange paint and the odd poster on the wall.

All the floors looked the same. He wandered all the way to the place with ominous looking signs – operating rooms, surgery ward, ICU. He felt the urge to storm the door somehow, kick them in, scream and curse if only to make sure Thor—

"Sir?" a voice said behind him. "You are not allowed to be here. I must ask you to leave."

"I'm looking for someone," Loki said flatly.

"The information desk is in the main lobby," the woman said curtly. Loki bared his teeth, wanting to argue – he did not know if he hoped or dreaded Thor would be inside but either way he had to _know_ – then thought better of it.

He managed to find his way back. Frigga was still on the phone and Loki's steps faltered, reluctant to carry him closer. From the distance he could not see her expression, or hear her voice. Instead he found a row of vending machines, annoyingly bright and colourful, and bought two cups of coffee with some change rattling in the pockets of Thor's jacket.

She looked up when he approached, even managing an upward curl of her lips that was a poor caricature of her warm smile. Once again, Loki's head spiralled, unable to process the sheer wrongness of the situation.

"Is that for me?" she asked, when he said nothing. "Thank you."

The coffee tasted like shit. Loki drank it nonetheless, taking comfort in the repetitive motions – raise the cup, put it against his lips, take the tiniest sip, swallow without engaging his taste buds. Lower the cup. Repeat.

"Where's Odin?" he asked, one third into the cup's contents.

"At the police station," Frigga said. "He went directly to the scene of the crime."

Ah. That sounded like Odin. Still—"Is he allowed to be there?"

Frigga smiled faintly. "My husband can be very persuasive."

 _Scene of the crime_. He was—no, he couldn't force the question past his vocal cords. He spent a long minute with his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, the faint tremor of his hand being the only movement he seemed capable of.

Frigga broke the silence.

"Your opinion of my husband isn't very high, is it?" she asked. Intent, apparently, on talking about nothing. Loki was more than happy to oblige; his anger at Odin was a good distraction from the paralyzing dread.

"I imagine the feeling is mutual," Loki said, his tone a good imitation of the feigned innocence he normally employed. "Because, to be completely honest, if it weren't for you I don't think Odin would be in here chasing criminals. He would be out there leading them."

She almost laughed at that. And it was the first time she looked at Loki, properly looked, with the same warmth that drew him to her in the first place, all those years ago when he was nothing but a scared and angry child.

"Yes, it is mutual," she said. "He occasionally says you can be astonishingly stupid for someone so clever."

 _Clever_. Did Odin think him clever? It used to matter to him. Now he just wanted to laugh at how idiotic his problems seemed.

"There's a certain amount of admiration, then," Loki said. "Not a lot of respect."

"True," she said. "Although I suppose you aren't wrong. Either of you."

"No. Perhaps not."

He rested his head against the wall. Frigga still sat upright and unmoving, with the mostly untouched plastic cup of coffee held tightly in her hand. Again he felt foolish, for his pathetic attempt at—what? Comforting her? He did not think he was qualified to—he did not consider—

Thor was better at this kind of thing. Thor could tell when Loki was upset, when he said something horrible and regretted it right after, when he wanted nothing but to melt in his embrace—

Or maybe he didn't know. Maybe he thought Loki didn't care. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But he was better. Loki considered himself apt at reading people, and so what? It was always an outsider's perspective, an attempt to piece together a coherent image from information he couldn't quite understand. He watched people from behind a thick sheet of glass, _thinking_ he knew them but never quite getting close enough to test the theory.

Thor was different. Thor pulled people in. Thor gave so much of himself, seemingly never running out of enthusiasm or interest or affection, and Loki—Loki watched, and took, and never ever paid for what he had taken.

And now Thor was—

He swallowed, thickly. The prickle in his eyes was humiliating and he tried to force the thoughts from his head – it was okay. It would be okay. Nothing was wrong.

He started counting, in his head, focusing on just that. Just numbers. One, two, three—on and on, fifty five, fifty six, fifty seven – anything but Thor, anything – fifty eight. Fifty nine. Thor was dying. Thor could be dead right now, for all they knew, and—sixty. Sixty one. Sixty—

His shoulders trembled. Frigga must have noticed for she was putting a hand on Loki's shoulder, carding it through his hair with the gentlest touch. She said something, too soft to hear, and Loki only sobbed harder, letting her embrace him. She was a small woman, slightly built, but a part of him never stopped looking up to her through the eyes of a child. Never quite got over the desperate wish that she could be his mother. He wondered if she knew.

"It will be okay, Loki," she said gently. "It will be okay."

A soothing lie, rolling smoothly from her tongue. Loki laughed, or sobbed, or did something in between – it was hard to tell.

They held each other for a few short moments, before Loki managed to regain his composure. He realized that Frigga's embrace was painfully strong – she took his hand and squeezed it, seemingly unaware that his bones were grinding together. Her soft, reassuring smile was very well faked, even if her eyes remained empty.

"I know," he said. He could do this. After all, he could lie as well as she did.

***

An hour passed, and then another. Or at least he thought it did – his vison was getting blurry. Perhaps because his eyes were dry, for all that he kept them forcibly open, unblinking, focused on the sharp lights.

He pushed himself to his feet to walk through the pins-and-needles sensation in his legs, which remained motionless for too long. There was nothing to do but wait: wait, drink coffee, count in his head to keep himself from thinking. Numbers. Poetry. Shakespeare's sonnets, one after the other. Snatches of melodies.

Frigga shifted in her seat. He followed her gaze, and then heard it, the staccato of boots on the tiled floor. A woman was walking down the corridor in a stark-white doctor's coat. She was in her fifties, around Frigga's age, although stern-looking and thin-lipped.

"Eir?" Frigga said, standing up with an alarming speed. She opened her mouth to ask a question but seemed unable to, frozen and pale.

"It's going well," the woman said, something like kindness smoothing her features. "Surgeons need a little more time, but it's going well. You will be able to see Thor once he wakes up from sedation."

"And when--?"

"We can't be sure," Eir said. "I'll keep you updated. My apologies for not being here, we are severely understaffed—"

"No, I understand," Frigga said. "Thank you."

Loki stalked away, leaving them to their pleasantries and small-talk. Some colour had returned to Frigga's face, and she looked much calmer now, her smile less obviously forced.

He caught a snatch of their conversation – _stab wound_ – and felt sick to his stomach.

Intellectually, he knew he ought to be able to express some kind of emotion, joy or relief perhaps. But he would rather cling to the numbness inside him, for the fear that the good news was premature.

The plastic chair creaked when he sat down, after Eir's departure.

"A friend of yours?" he asked. He didn't think he would be able to stand another minute in complete silence.

"She is," Frigga said. "We were flatmates, back in university. Fulla, Eir, Brunhilde and I."

Loki raised his head at that and shot her an incredulous look. "Brunhilde? As in, my defence attorney? This Brunhilde?"

"The very same."

"Jesus." He laughed at the sheer audacity, even if his laughter sounded hollow. "Is there any part of my case Odin didn't own from the start?"

Frigga had the decency to neither confirm nor deny. Her eyes were half-closed, lost in memories.

"What did you study?" Loki asked, still determined to think about anything other than Thor getting _stabbed_ , for—who knows what reason.

"Law," she said. "Financial law, to be exact. After university I started working as a legal advisor for Fulla's charity."

"And how did you like the job?" he asked.

"It was—rewarding, in a way. I certainly couldn't do what Odin does. Plus I enjoyed working with children."

"What, even me?" he asked, half-jokingly.

"Yes, Loki. Even you."

He shut up after that, his teeth grinding together. Of course she would be too polite to say otherwise.

"So how did you meet Odin?" he said, first question that popped in his head.

"Ah," Frigga smiled. "He was one of my tutors, actually."

Loki straightened and looked at her, disbelieving. "You dated your own professor?"

"Assistant," she corrected. She caught his gaze and while she didn't exactly blush, she seemed a little embarrassed. "Oh, stop it, Loki. Don't give me that look."

"I'm not saying anything," Loki said, allowing himself the tiniest smirk.

The silence felt lighter now, and less like it was about to suffocate him. His thought processes still seemed fragmented, not quite fitting together, but he was able to ignore it.

Until Odin's arrival, that is.

He stormed into the hospital like he owned the place, his expression softening only when he saw Frigga. Loki had enough presence of mind to step back and stalk away down the corridor, knowing he wouldn't be missed. Unless—

"Where do you think you're going?" Odin said coldly.

"Away," Loki said.

"You will stay _here_ and tell me everything you know," Odin said.

"I know nothing," Loki hissed. "Fucking hell, will you leave me alone?"

"Oh, so my son _willingly_ walked into a criminal hangout? And you had nothing to do with it?"

Loki had a retort at the tip of his tongue, but it seemed stuck there. He stared at Odin, wide-eyed, completely lost for words.

Was that what happened? Thor had—what, Thor decided to _investigate_? Loki assumed this was a random robbery, and not—

He turned and walked away. No, this was silly. Thor was fine. Everything was fine.

***

The night dragged on. Loki could hardly sit still under the weight of Odin's accusing stare. And it made him sick to watch them, knowing he was the outsider again, sharing in grief that did not belong to him.

He took to pacing the corridor every once in a while. Frigga tried to talk to him, draw him into another meaningless conversation, but Loki rebuffed all her attempts. It was easier, in a way, to shut himself off.

Once he spotted Eir, he nearly lost it. He felt nauseous, his mouth watering with saliva and his stomach heaving: but, no. He could yet be calm. He would be.

Eir said, "Thor's well. You can see him now." And Loki could breathe again.

Frigga and Odin stood up. They were holding hands, like teenagers, and followed Eir towards the post-op, Loki dragging behind them.

Frigga was the one to turn, offer him a feeble smile. She looked worn and tired after the sleepless night; Odin did, too. Neither of them was quite so young anymore, after all.

"You go," Loki told her, with a smile of his own. "I'll wait here."

She said nothing, but did squeeze his hand, reassuringly. Loki watched them disappear behind the heavy blue door. He thought he saw Thor – perhaps it was him right over there, in one of the beds, hooked to monitors and with an oxygen mask on his face. Perhaps.

Loki wanted to laugh. No, this couldn't be Thor. Thor was always so full of life, so bright and energetic. Thor was many things, many frightening and wonderful things – but this injured shell of a man _he was not_.

He needed a cigarette. His hands shook too badly, but he still had some spare change. Or perhaps there was someone he could ask, on his way.

Out he walked, into the parking lot. The air was chilly and damp, with morning dew settling over everything. The sky was brightening, already clouded over.

Loki pulled in a lungful of relatively fresh air. Then he walked. On, and on – all the way to the apartment.

He didn't look back.


End file.
